


Ahkrin Ahrk Krah

by Darkarashi



Series: The Courage and The Cold [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Femdom, In which the Dovhakiin and a Prince have many disagreements, Many many many culturual misunderstandings, Mentions of past abuse, Mentions of past drug use, Post-Thor (2011), Pre-Thor: The Dark World, The Dovahkiin is not allowed to be happy ever, Threesome - F/M/M, Universe Re-telling, Vampires, mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:37:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 35
Words: 120,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkarashi/pseuds/Darkarashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dovahkiin, Dragonborn of legend - Slayer of Dragons, Defender of Tamriel, Thane of Whiterun, of Riften, of Markarth, Thief and Brother, charged with defeating Alduin, the World-Eater, is a hard woman to surprise. In her tenure as Dovahkiin, she has met Daedric Princes, traded blows with long-dead Empresses and Mad Kings, reformed guilds, lain the mighty low and, she thought, gained a healthy appreciation of the surprising and unusual. Not much could be more surprising than the first time a dragon's soul entered her body, she had thought. </p><p>But then she met Loki, the man from the woods. He was queerer by far than any of the other things she had encountered in her path to Alduin, and seemed to be as confused as her as to why he was in Tamriel, let alone stuck in a tree in the middle of the Reach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grind

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ ) 

* * *

 «You cannot hide Dovahkiin!»

The dragon’s voice shook the trees above her, and Keshaara cursed her studious learning of the Dovah language. She really did not want to hear this particular dragon’s opinion of her current tactic, which was, incidentally, running and hiding until her magicka regenerated enough so she could fight. All while hoping it was far enough from the closest small town that the guardsmen would stop trying to attack the dragon. She appreciated their help, truly, she did, but they were causing more problems than they realized.

 She crashed through the underbrush, ducking beneath branches and darting around saplings in her mad dash to carry on. Her nearly six and a half foot height was more a detriment in this environment than anything else, forcing her to stoop in heavy armor not made to stoop in. Quick-stepping was hard, but not impossible, and in between having to focus on all of the environmental challenges - including a fucking _dragon_ , thank you - and minding how much magicka she had left, it was hard to remember just where she was trying to get to, other than "away".

 «Your voice is weak, your weapons brittle!»

 Keshaara snarled at that, but kept running. She was not a fully-trained Dovahkiin, because there was no one to train Dovahkiin. There were only people who wanted her to do one more task for them under the guise of teaching. She had spent hours at the word walls she stumbled across in order to understand the words of power that rumbled in the back of her throat. Some, she returned to months later, to further study them as she learned more of the language of the dragons that she had some small command over.

 Her voice was not weak, it was just _tired_.

 She kept up her brutal pace through the underbrush, ignoring the burn in her muscles as her heavy armor slammed into her with every step. She had to get the dragon further away from the civilians and woefully unprepared guardsmen. Even though its voice was fading, she held no assumptions that the dragon would have left her. He was more than likely merely waiting for her to cross into an open area so he could try and set her on fire again. Her armor (her lovingly handcrafted, hand-embellished and hand-enhanced armor) bore scorchmarks from his fire’s kiss already. Keshaara wanted no more of that. Not that she, herself, was burned. But it was hard enough cleaning her armor, and scorchmarks ruined leather.

Ever on alert in the midst of battle, she heard the _crack_ of a snapping branch in the tree above her.  She whipped her head around, drawing her war axe from her belt, and readying her spell, fully intending to use the absolute dregs of her magicka to bring the maximum amount of harm to the dragon as fast as possible.

 What she saw instead of the ugly, scarred and axe-beaten face of the dragon she had been fighting, was a passably attractive, probably Nord man, who was hanging from, and tangled in, the branches of the tree above her. Keshaara blinked, trying to see if her eyes were telling her true, but when she could not detect any glamour or shield around the man, she had no choice but to accept him as he was. This was exactly the sort of thing she did not want to bother with while she was trying to fight a dragon. Incidentally.

 “<Come down from the tree, sir. There is a dragon in the area, and I cannot guarantee your safety if you don->”

 The branch that had been holding the majority of the man’s weight gave way all at once, and he and the foliage crashed to the ground in front of her. She sidestepped, giving herself room in case this man decided to, all at once, turn violence upon her. Stranger things had happened to her.

 Keshaara kept a hand on her axe, but dispelled the flames dancing around her hand. No need to waste precious magicka just yet.

 “<Sir?>”

 “I cannot understand a thing you are saying, woman, but please stop talking. My head is killing me.”

 The words that tumbled from the man’s mouth were utterly incomprehensible to her, but she could understand the general gist of what he intended through his tone - didn't speak the language, general grumpiness or bad attitude. Keshaara frowned, and her hand tightened on the axe. Fire spluttered around her fingers, and she itched to see if this man was as flammable as the draugrs that shared his unhealthy pallor. She had no time for this man if he was going to give her an attitude, especially if he was going to disrespect her in a tongue she could not understand. There was a _dragon_ around.

 She opened her mouth to scold him for his tone to a stranger, because as a fellow Nord he should have known better than to offer someone he did not know disrespect while in open territory, but she was interrupted by the heavy crash of a dragon's body wrecking a dozen trees. The dragon had found her and landed, screaming its challenge at her. The man had the unfortunate position of being in between her and the dragon, and therefore in the most vulnerable spot in all of Tamriel in that moment.

 The man, to his credit, did not stand transfixed, gaping at the dragon, but did his best to scramble away from it. Simultaneously, Keshaara ran towards it, her axe free and her flames roaring about her.

 “<Get moving! Dragon! _GO!_ >” Keshaara yelled, pointing with her flame-covered hand behind her.

 The dragon began its thu’um, the first words draining the air out of the area as it prepared to try and burn her to cinders, and Keshaara knew that the man had not had the time to escape the force of the dragon’s voice. The thu’um would catch them both, and while Keshaara was in her best heavy armor, equipped to stand in the full brunt of a thu’um and walk away unscathed, the man had no such protection. He was wearing the clothes of a commoner, cloth and perhaps some small amount of leather. Nothing meant to do battle in.

 Her thu’um would have to be stronger, then, to keep him safe. She planted both of her feet, took a deep breath in, and with all of the force she could summon in her body, shouted “ _ **Fus Ro Dah!**_ ”

 The familiar sensation of her thu’um exploding out of her mouth set her battle-lust ablaze, and she chased the force of her thu’um. Axe in hand, and fire searing the air around her, Keshaara pressed the attack on the dragon. She knocked its head to the side with one wide swing of her axe, striking the great reptile with enough force to split its scales and dazing it long enough for her to jump onto its scarred head.

 She grabbed its primary horn in one gauntleted hand, and used her momentum to twist herself around so she was facing forward on its head, her boots planted firmly atop its snout. The dragon tried to shake her off, regaining its senses and recognizing the danger she presented in her position. Keshaara stopped it in its tracks with another resounding blow to the side of its face with all of the considerable force in her body. She rained blows down on its head, stunning it further and further until its legs collapsed from beneath it and its wings fluttered helplessly. The killing blow was coming, the dragon knew, and he knew too, that this Dovahkiin had bested him.

Blood and broken scales littered the ground around them.

 Keshaara knew that the end was nigh as well, and knew that despite the dragon’s insistence on proving itself and failing, it did deserve an honorable death. The final blow was a quick one, when it came. Her axe sank deep into the dragon’s neck, severing all of the vital veins and arteries there in a single blow.

 The dragon sighed, and its life bled out into the ground.

 She staggered off the dragon’s head as it began to violently decompose, its flesh burning away and setting ash upon the winds. Keshaara stumbled backwards towards where the man had been, breathing heavily as the battle-high buzzing in her blood began to fade. Exhaustion came upon her quickly, stealing up in her blood like a thief of her guild. She sheathed her axe, took in a gasping breath and waited for the dragon to relinquish its soul.

 The oh-so-familiar feeling of fullness fell upon her as her birthright drew another part of a dragon into her body. Keshaara closed her eyes, letting the feeling overwhelm her for the barest moment. She could feel this soul joining the others, lending strength and vitality to her thu’um. The Dovahkiin knew that she was growing ever stronger with every dragon she faced.

 Keshaara took a few moments to calm herself, looking to the sky to see if there was a second dragon, and when she found none, she began looting the remains of dragon’s body for whatever treasures it held. There was no time to feel anything about the dragon’s passing. No time to consider what great history had been lost, what she could have learned had more dragons been like Paarthurnax instead of tools of Alduin. The sun would be setting soon, and she had a long walk back to her nearest home. Markarth would be her destination for the night, and hopefully the renovations to the final part of her house would be complete and she would have a nice new nook to read her books in.

 In the middle of her investigation of the dragon's bones there was a loud snap of a twig from behind her. Slowly, she turned her head, and saw the man from before holding a broken stick in his hands. Keshaara lifted a single eyebrow and straightened back up to her full height, staring the man down with a steely gaze.

 “Who are you?”

 His words were still meaningless to her. It was undeniable that he was speaking a language, but it was not one Keshaara had heard at all in her travels. And to say that she had heard a "fair few languages" was doing more than a small amount of disservice to her Ashlander life before she came to Skyrim.

 She shook her head, furrowing her brows and shrugging to indicate that she did not understand what he wanted.

 The man sighed and rolled his eyes. Keshaara grinned tightly, her teeth long and sharp in her mouth.

In a completely exaggerated move, he put both of his hands on his chest and said, _slowly_ “Loki”, then pointed with both hands at her.

 “<Well met Loki. I am Keshaara. Dovahkiin. Ysmir. Thane of Markarth, of Windhelm->”

 He shook his hands emphatically, interrupting her.

 Again, he put both hands on his chest, and said “Loki.”

Keshaara frowned. Her lip curled, and her mouth was full of fangs.

“Keshaara.”

The man nodded slowly, smiling so broadly and so fakely that Keshaara felt the urge to punch in the mouth him rising up again. Who was he, wearer of pale green rags, raven of hair, pale of skin and green of eye to treat her as such? She was no woman to demand fealty and the groveling of others, but she was the Dovahkiin, and generally, she did not suffer fools. Not even passably attractive fools. Or mostly attractive fools.

Her opinion of him must have been apparent on her face, because the man smiled condescendingly at her, and made a gesture she supposed was meant to be apologetic. Stiffly, the Dovahkiin turned away from the man, looking to the sky to gain her bearings so she could head back home for the evening. Markarth was not too far, and she would rather sleep in a bed than out on the ground after a dragon fight. Scavengers were the worst sort of scum to run into..

Loki followed her movements, almost mimicking her, stepping behind her in exaggerated rhythm.

Keshaara could see him from the corner of her eye, and chose to ignore him. There were no weapons on the man, and if he decided to try some sort manner of magic, he was going to feel the force of her thu’um. She might not have much left in the reserves of magicka, but her thu'um was already burning the back of her throat.

“Wait!”

The voice behind her was the slightest bit panicked, which needed no real translation, and she granted the man the slightest glance over her shoulder. He was walking towards her faster now, and Keshaara allowed him the approach. He did not look as if he was intending a threat, and she was not going to waste her weapons on him if she did not need to.

He reached for her arm, and she allowed that as well, almost curious about what this strange man could want from her. She was armed and armored and he had nothing. He touched her shoulder and gently turned her to face him fully. She frowned, and made to step away from the odd man. His gentle grip turned to steel and he pulled her back towards him. He stepped forward in the same movement, and quickly closed the gap between them, deftly pressing his shockingly cold lips to hers. Her gasp allowed his tongue access into her mouth, and even that felt like she was atop the Throat of the World, pressing her mouth to her war axe’s blade. Eyes wide, she couldn't help the near-instinctive near-reciprocation.

He was _attractive_ , alright?

Keshaara suffered this foolishness for about four seconds, however. Just long enough for her confusion to give way to anger, and for her anger to morph into fury. She pulled her head back, her citrine eyes narrowed in rage, and she watched the self-satisfied smirk dance across Loki’s face.

“Ah, now that language of yours makes sense. Keshaara I am-”

She took immense pleasure in ramming her helmeted forehead into his. Loki crumpled to the forest floor, unsurprisingly knocked out cold. Keshaara "gently" kicked him with the toe of her boot to satisfy herself that he was well and truly unconscious, before kneeling down beside him, searching him for valuables (none) or anything interesting (also none). He really was rather useless. All the more confusing then, why he was out here, in a tree, speaking a language she had never heard before.

The Dovahkiin had left people in far worse shape in far worse places before, but there was a nagging sensation of wrongness that rose up in her when she considered leaving this particular man behind. She had no intention of camping out in the Reach for another night, which meant she was going to have to take this particular man with her. And she had _just_ knocked him unconscious so if he was going to move any time soon, it was going to be by her own strength, not his own.

Sighing mightily, Keshaara bent over and hefted the man. She draped him over her shoulders as comfortably as she could manage for herself, and set off towards Markarth.

She would just have to question this Loki when he awoke. Whenever that would be.


	2. Ahraan

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ ) 

* * *

 The trek back to Markarth was a decently long one, and Keshaara did not pass through the great stone gates until the sun had been down for nearly an hour. Her pace was slow and methodical, and her passenger had not stirred throughout the entirety of the journey. Her thick gloves kept her from feeling for a pulse, but she could feel the man’s breath on her neck, so she let concern for the man roll off her shoulders, even as he carried him further. She did not mind. Her armor was uncomfortable to be carried atop of, so if the man wanted to be carried in one of the most uncomfortable ways so he would not have to walk, that was his own concern.

 A few of the friendlier inhabitants of the stone city called out to her as she passed by, and the local drunks greeted her with rowdy hoots and hollers about her choice in man. She took the jibes with a good-natured smile, and kept on her path. Her house was deep in the belly of Markarth, near the Jarl's Hold proper. It was more than just a short walk through the city, and despite how long she had been fighting that day, and how far she had walked supporting the full weight of another, she had more than enough energy left in her to continue walking on without any indication of stopping. This was not the most difficult walk she had made. This was no Throat of the World. This was just Markarth. 

 The great stone architecture of the dwemer surrounded her, cast in stone and glittering bronze. When the lights of the torches caught the metal, it shone, thanks to the constant polishing the urchins did for their nightly meal. The cobbled paths were well-worn and smooth underfoot, though not so much so that she was in danger of slipping as she walked. The winds that blew down from the mountains that surrounded Markarth chilled anyone fool enough to stand in them. Despite not being overly bothered by the cold, Keshaara had no urge to let herself be chilled more than was absolutely necessary. Markarth was not a warm city. It was a city built of stone and inhabited by people with stone in their hearts. It was cold, throughout.

 Keshaara did not mind the people. Stone hearts were strong, stone hearts were the product of war and war-times.

 As her trek upwards continued, she found herself nearly regretting that Vlindrel Hall was at the very top of Markarth. In the mornings when she awoke to look out over the city, and in the nights when she would watch the play of the skylights in the night, it was beautiful, and the reason this was the favorite of her houses inside city limits. Her truest favorite was to the south, but that was not truly worth thinking of in that moment. She had not gone there because it was further from where the dragon had been, and she did not want to spend the night sleeping in her armor.

 When she was tired, aching, in need of some healing and carrying a man she had met in the forest, the positioning of Vlindrel Hall at the top of all else was exhausting and annoying. Beautiful. Annoying. 

 Still, she had to get to her house. The man over her shoulders would probably need some looking after, and the way his clothing fit across his skin made her think that he was probably an escapee from somewhere foul. She'd hate to think that he could be any more attractive than he already was, but the chances were  decently high that this little problem of hers was going to end up being some manner of near-daedrically handsome thing by the time he was well-tended to. Oh no. The horror. A handsome man. The worst thing in her day was a handsome man. 

All in all, this had not been near as bad a day as it could have been.

 The final flights of stairs were significantly easier than the previous flights, and finally, she stood in front of the ornate door to her home. With a shove, and a bit of maneuvering, she got the door open, and both her and the man who had introduced himself as Loki entered her home.

 There was a rush of heat as she entered, and Keshaara sighed mightily. The heat was the courtesy of her housecarl following her instructions about keeping her home warm so that she could come back to some place comfortable when she was in the Reach.

 “Argis! Attend to me!” she called into the dimly lit house, her voice echoing through the halls.

 There was a bout of mighty cursing, a crash, and the rasp of drawn steel as her hosuecarl was roused from sleep, fell from his bed, and armed himself in a matter of moments. He rushed through the large house, ready to fight and defend the life of his Thane, who greeted him with a tired smile, a bloodied face, scorched armor and a strange man draped across her shoulders. He stared at her for a moment, and Keshaara watched his emotions war within him as he tried to decide what to make of this definitively odd sight.

 The sword dropped from Argis’s hand, and he went to his Thane’s side, holding his arms out for the man to be placed into.

 “You brought home a stray, my Thane?” he asked as she carefully laid the man in his arms.

 “I brought home a curiosity, Argis. Place him in my bed for the evening, I will tend to my arms and armor and then to him. When he is placed, can you please heat some stew for us both? The winds were chill, and I fear this one may have taken ill.”

 Argis frowned, but accepted his Thane’s words. He hefted the man in his Thane’s stead, and went to do as she had asked of him. Blessings be upon Argis, he knew when to question her and when to let her make decrees of her own. Not because he was awed of her, though he truly was, but because she was Thane and he was not, and he understood that her duality of Thane and Dovahkiin meant that she would, of occasion, have needs of him that were strange. 

 Keshaara began removing her armor, quickly stripping out of the heavy pieces and placing them properly on the mannequin she had dragged to the door, out of the enchanting room, a long while ago. She could have just snapped all of the armor off in a moment, but there was something meditative about actually taking the time to get herself out of the armor piece by piece. Her weapons were placed nearby, and after she put her adventuring bag down, she rummaged through the nearest cabinet for the home-clothing she was always careful to store near the door. She shrugged into the more casual cloth-and-linen outfit, put some fur-lined slippers on, and went to her room. A bath would have to wait a while longer.

 Argis was standing stiffly outside the closed doors to her room, arms crossed, and looking every inch a grumpy bear roused too soon from hibernation. His hear was tousled, his sleeping clothes rumpled and his eyes bleary. Keshaara smiled at him, reaching out to clap a hand on his shoulder.

 “To bed, Argis. I will handle this all. The stew can wait until morning. Rest. I will call if there is danger or need of you,” she said simply, smiling at the great beast of a housecarl.

 Argis grunted and nearly objected, but a stern look from his Thane forced him to relent. He relaxed and then cast a single look over his shoulder, back to the room. His face hardened for a moment.

 “Be careful, my Thane.”

 Keshaara nodded and offered her dear housecarl a smile. Argis ambled back to his room, satisfied he had done his job, and Keshaara turned to enter her room.

 Argis had placed the man atop her bed, laying him at the edge, where he stayed, uncovered and shivering, despite the warmth in the room. She would just have to fix that. Chills were no small matter in Markarth, especially when nursing a head wound. Too many people took the cold into their bones and it never, ever left. Not until their life did.

 Keshaara summoned her magic, so she could begin healing the man. Carefully, she ran her magic over every part of Loki, to ensure that if there were any injuries, she healed them cleanly. It was a kindness she offered him, and nothing more. No serious injuries came to light. There was only the rather nasty knot on his head from where her helmet had made contact with his face and the bruises across his ribs that required any effort on her behalf. She healed those small injuries without feeling the slightest bit of remorse for what she had done. He had impugned upon her, and like any other person who presumed to touch her without her permission, he had learned the error of that assumption.

 The healing was done in short order. Keshaara stood beside her bed, over a strange man she had found in a tree in the Reach, and this was not the oddest thing she had done this week. She studied him carefully. Something still felt amiss about him. There was..an otherness about him, a curiosity that she could not place, and it bothered her. Curious things, odd things, abnormal things – they all tended to turn around and bite her in the ass, and she had no love of being bitten. Not when she wasn't expecting it, at least.

 Gently, she pressed her fingers to the side of his neck, to take his pulse. His skin there still felt astoundingly cold. If she had not watched as his chest rose and fell, she would have assumed him dead, so deep was the chill. Carefully, she let her hand drift beneath the collar of his shirt to better feel his heartbeat, and her fingers skipped over what felt like a scar.

 Her bedamned curious nature rising, Keshaara pulled the thin material to the side, looking for the scar that her fingers had felt. Perhaps the shape and form of the scar would tell her more of who he was, and what he was doing in a tree somewhere out in the middle of the Reach. She saw no scar, however. Her sense of touch was telling her that there was a scar beneath her fingers, but her sight told her nothing was there. How odd. Very odd.

She bent closer to Loki, looking hard at the skin and feeling the length of the scar her eyes could not see. It felt far more like a ritual scar than one gained in battle, which could be a reason for her eyes being unable to see it. She traced the scar up the length of his neck, stopping when she felt it reach up over his chin. His pulse beat against her fingers as she let them skim back down his neck. Idly, some wild and forgotten part of her brain urged her to taste the wound there, break open the old scar with her teeth and taste just what this man was made of. 

For a moment, she paused there, considering her next course of action, struck as she often was, by the ghosts of her past. She shook off the unneeded bloodlust. It did her no good, and it did not keep the questions in her head from being any less loud. There was something curious about this Loki, and though any of her next actions could be interpreted as a breach of some religious cult’s custom, there was little in the world of Skyrim that she was not already involved in. She saw no real harm in embroiling herself in one more mystery.

What was one more, really?

She summoned her magic, and with a swipe of magicka across her eyes, opened her tenth eye to the unseen. 

The Nord sleeping on her bed her faded, and she was left looking at a blue-skinned creature, with scars that traced out deliberate patterns on the skin. Keshaara froze. There was nothing like this that existed in Skyrim that could be possibly even thought of as friendly. She sucked on her teeth, considering if it would indeed be the wiser choice to kill this creature before it awoke, but when she looked back to the man’s eyes, they were wide and red and already looking at her.

Keshaara blinked her enchanted vision away, and Loki looked like a proper Nord again. Piercing green eyes stared her down, daring her to make a comment. 

“You are not of Nirn, are you? Are you daedra?” she asked slowly, not moving from her position. One of her hands still hovered over his skin, but she dared not move it away.

She knew certain creatures were easy to provoke by movement, and with the proximity they shared, she did not want to be at the receiving end of any of this man’s possible skill. Unarmed and unarmored, they both were. But she knew something more of him now, and there was no way to truly understand how dangerous he was when magicka thundered through the veins of all sorts of foul thing.

“I am Loki, of Asgard. I am no daedra,” he said in her native tongue.

“You are, however, bad at lying. In my language, at least,” she snapped back, hiding her surprise that he knew that much of her language when he had not known any of it before.

He smiled at her, a wicked grin that made her wary. It promised too much, all too much, and there was that part of her that was curious as to just what sort of promises such a grin could actually follow through on.

“I should certainly hope not. It is what I am most known for.”

There was almost a laugh hidden in his words, but Keshaara could feel the pain hidden in his words. It was a laugh she had heard many a time before, by mortals consumed by things beyond their control. It was a laugh of dark humor, of pain and forced acceptance. It sounded, above all else, sad. He was sad?

Keshaara did not smile in return. This was a broken, dangerous thing she had allowed into her house, but she was, for the moment responsible for him.

“You will be Lokil while here with me. It is safer that way. The name is not common, but it is noticeably Nord. When you leave, choose whatever name suits you better, daedra.”

“I am _not_ the things you call daedra. I am of Asgard – I am _Loki_ of Asgard,” he insisted, sitting up.

Keshaara held him down, encouraging him, none-too-gently, to lay flat. He struggled against her, trying to push himself back up as best he could.

The man was surprisingly strong, and it took no small amount of Keshaara’s own strength to hold him in place. She had to push him back down fiercely and bend over him so that he would not try and move again. Looming was one of her particular fortes, and despite Loki's own height, she was standing and he was not.

“That is a place I do not know. It is not of Nirn. You are in Skyrim, of Tamriel. More accurately, you are in the city of Markarth of the Reach, lying in the bed of the Dovahkiin, Thane of the Hold. Asgard is not a place near here. Calm yourself, or I will calm you myself.”

The man narrowed his eyes at her, displeased with how this conversation was turning out. Keshaara was none too thrilled, either, as luck would have it.

“You are not hearing me, Keshaara, consumer of dragons.”

“I assure you, I am, Lokil. You are not from Nirn, and you insist you are not daedra, but your skin shares their colors, and the scars that beget their markings. If you are not daedra, Lokil, then what are you?”

The fury she saw in his eyes was all the warning she received before he _lunged_ at her. Her strength was nothing against him in that moment, and the surprise of that revelation had her taking a shocked half-step away from him. Keshaara had the advantage of already standing, but he had still caught her off guard. He tackled her to the hard stone floor of her room, and she watched his fury consume him. Loki pinned her wrists to the floor, and sank a knee into her stomach hard enough to drive air from her lungs.

“I am _Loki_ , of _Asgard_ , and you saw **nothing** ,” he hissed at her, using his full weight to pin her to the ground.

“You are Lokil, and you should remember that name for your own safety while here. Please remove yourself from where you are. I saw what you meant to hide - things that people would identify as daedric in origin here. You are not lizard enough to hide behind the face of an Argonian, and your elven features beneath the Nord skin you wear only further that. If you are anything else but daedra, you are far more likely to find love here. No mage will look and see anything but who you are. I have no fear of daedra, or whatever being you are, unless you are a threat to me or my housecarl,” Keshaara hissed out around great gulps of air.

But Keshaara did not move to try and get the man off of her. She seriously doubted his ability to harm her in any critical manner, and Argis was but a room away. That, and he had yet to notice the dull pale green light that had engulfed the hands he had captured in his own as she worked her own magicka to ensure her safety. Calming spells were one of the more important ones in her repertoire.

 Lokil growled at her impudence, and Keshaara laughed, bright and clear.

 “Oh, that sounded much like the young Companion pups! Are you brother Brave, then?”

 Her words were spoken around joyous peals of laughter, and Lokil withdrew, releasing her wrists, confused as to why this woman was laughing, but not feeling mocked by her laughter either.

 His confused look told Keshaara all she needed to know about that possibility. She carefully leaned up, propping herself up on one elbow, and slowly sliding her hand up his thigh to his waist, whorls of calming magic tracing her path before settling deep into his skin. She really did not want a fight. And more importantly, she did not want Argis to try and tell her that he told her so if Lokil attacked her in her own bedroom.

 “Not my brother then. Perhaps the Night Mother is where we share kinship? Or perhaps not. Regardless.”

 Keshaara disentangled herself from Lokil’s poor pin when he leaned away from her, but remained sitting with him on the floor. The pale green light had faded, and it seemed that the calming spell had had the desired effect. The man no longer was spitting mad, and instead, just…confused.

 “You are my guest, Lokil. I do not mean you harm, whatever you are - unless you intend me harm, and then you would feel the force of my thu'um as the dov have. I am not some young woman who has never dealt with the Princes before, I just like to know who you serve and where you are bound, if not to that body. It is for my own protection – and yours. Daedra are detectable in various ways and I would rather not have to manage the drama hosting daedra brings.”

 He folded his legs beneath him, staring at Keshaara intently. He opened his mouth, presumably to argue with her again, and the Dovahkiin held up a hand to stop him before he got too far into the objection.

 “We can have the conversation about who and what you are later, Lokil. First, you should eat. Your bones are sticking out at all odd angles and it makes me nervous. I offer you guestright to my home for as long as you need to recover. This includes food and clothing, and whatever arms and armor you may need when you leave. Though I do ask, in return, to hear your story. It seems interesting, and the bardic college does so love it when I bring things of interest to them. Is this agreeable to you?”

 Lokil nodded, slowly.

 “I want to know more about this place as well. I do not know where I am, only that it is not Asgard or Midgard or Jotunheim.”

 “You are correct, good sir. As I said, this place is called Nirn. Let me fetch us some bread and cheese and ale and we can talk peacefully, and _calmly_ about what has brought you here and just what and who you are. Daedra or no, you look awful.”


	3. Dahmaan

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 Keshaara stood very slowly, watching Lokil all the while. She left the room for a few moments to fetch the food she had mentioned, and returned with her arms laden with various pastries, cheeses and fruits, and a jug of ale and teal carried precariously atop it all. She was hungry, and she was more than certain he was hungry as well and if she didn't eat the cheeses soon, not even Argis would eat them.

“I like keeping the larders full to bursting in all my houses. Sometimes I have a mighty hunger and need all the food I can eat. So if there is anything else you would like to eat, I can go and fetch it for you.”

Lokil nodded, and when she placed the assorted pastries and ale in front of him, he was slow to reach for the nearest tart. Keshaara stole it out from beneath his questing fingertip with a wink and a grin, eating it quickly while handing him a different tart. He pulled a face at her, but took the offered tart instead. If it just happened to be one of the tarts that she liked least, but everyone else in Markarth seemed to enjoy foisting upon her when she purchased breads and the like, that was neither here nor there.

 “Do you have any tea?” he asked, not looking away from the food he now held, nor starting to eat just yet.

 “Have some ale, first. I have a few teas, and I have ingredients to make others.”

 Keshaara was deftly cutting through the rind of a large wheel of cheese with one of her knives as she spoke, carefully avoiding sounding too insistent. It was, however, important, that he drink her ale, eat her bread, and be comfortable in her home.

 “Your ale smells off,” he said, pulling a face and holding his mug out from his face.

 “Drink the ale, Lokil. I will make tea when it is gone.”

 There was no mistaking the steel in her voice this time. She looked to the gaunt man, her jaw clenched around the words. He arched a well-shaped black eyebrow at her, in a way she was certain she was supposed to take as an admonishment or halfway seduction. She was in no mood for such things just then, however. Those games could well wait until she was certain he had had her ale and eaten her bread.

 “It is important that you are counted, by all measures of hospitality, as my guest. You are not from this place, and Markarth already knows of your arrival - on my shoulders, no less. There are no Master Illusionists in Markarth that reside permanently here, but the Thalmor are not known for taking kindly to strangers. I do not want them finding reason to remove you from the confines of my home prematurely. If you truly from a place outside of Nirn, there will be no stopping the Thalmor from seeking you out. I would prefer to be able to come back to this house. It has all my books. Drink the ale.”

 Lokil drank without any further questions, grimacing at the taste. Keshaara did her best to not feel insulted by that. 

 “Good. Tea will be later. First, stories.”

 Lokil nodded, his eyes narrowed. There was a dastardly cunningness that hid poorly in his gaze, and Keshaara did not flinch away from it. She would be doing much the same 

 “Yours first, Keshaara. It is unfair of me to give my tale first, as I am in an unfamiliar land and you have an advantage that I would rather see stricken out.”

 Keshaara grinned at that.

 “Fair enough, Lokil. What is it that you are curious about?”

 “Who rules these lands?”

 “It’s complicated.”

 “Who used to rule?”

 “Also complicated.”

 “Is there more than one legitimate claim to the throne?”

 “Also complicated.”

 “Is there anything about the current political system that is not complicated?”

 “No, it’s all pretty well complex. For different reasons. The High Queen Elsif rules from the Blue Palace of Solitude, but we are technically all under Aldmeri Dominion, under the heel of the Thalmor ruler from Cyrodiil. The High King Torig was killed in one-on-one combat by Ulfric Stormcloak, in a challenge for the throne, and current antagonist in Skyrim’s civil war. Ulfric won, but the dispute lay in whether or not it was a true challenge. Some say Elisif is the rightful ruler, others say Ulfric, some say neither, and most agree it is challenging to determine what is rightfully happening. The Jarls are divided on which side to support. There are those, like the Jarl here in Markarth, that support Elisif and the Thalmor. That is also a complicated story – one I am now involved in. The Jarl of Riften supports Ulfric, the Jarl of Whiterun does not know who to support. The Jarls of Falkreath, Dawnstar and Winterhold are all involved as well, but for sure, the Jarl of Solitude, Elisif, and the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric are opposed in belief.”

 Keshaara gestured as continued to speak, sketching out a map with her hands as she delineated the political and social lines that were being contested. The boundaries of Skyrim were pretty well indelibly inscribed into her mind's eye and she could probably draw a better map of Skyrim from memory than even the best cartographers could hope to do with centuries of research. She did not bore Lokil with things from outside this era, or from what happened before this current spat amongst the ruling classes. Most of her explanation was filled with presentations of both sides of the arguments, as she tried to keep her own opinions out of it. She was, after all, Dovahkiin.

 By the end, Lokil was nodding, a odd gleam in his eye.

 “And you. Where do you stand in all of this?”

 “I am the Dovahkiin.”

 “And what does that word mean.”

 “It means that I am the Dragonborn. An alternate translation is Dragon-hunter-born, but it depends on how you read your dov. Dovah is dragon, but so is dov. Ah can mean hunter, and kiin is born, or child. So, I am both born of dragons and born to hunt dragons. Which is an accurate description of what the Dovahkiin is and meant to do.”

 “So then there are more people like you?”

 “There are _no_ people like me, Lokil.”

 The vehemency of her statement made Lokil laugh, as if there was some sort of joke she was missing. Keshaara continued on regardless, uncaring of any small joke that was made at her expense. If she started caring about those, she would never be able to defeat Alduin, and would instead be busy beating every drunkard, Stormcloak, Thalmor and a goodly portion of the millers in the area.

 “I am the only Dovahkiin. Dovahkiin are heroes – they come in times of crisis to stop the threat of dragons from overwhelming Skyrim. Dovahkiin are the only people capable of permanently killing a dragon, by absorbing its soul. If the soul is allowed to escape, the dragon can return to its body and reanimate it. That is why the Dovahkiin is given special talents by the Princes and the Aedra. They are capable of learning the dragon’s tongue and using the thu’ums as dragons do,” she explained flatly, tired of this constant explanation and justification for her doing what no one else wanted to do anyway. 

 “That was what that horrendous shout was then, with the dragon,” Lokil interjected.

 “Just so. That was the Force, Unrelenting Power shout. It is a battering ram of power. Not the one I most commonly use, but it was the one at the moment, that kept you safest. I prefer others to that one, but they are significantly messier," she said with a slight wince, remembering a few of the first times she had ever used the words of power and...well she was glad she had killed those draugr. 

 “As I was saying though, the Dovahkiin is summoned when there is times of great strife. The last Dovahkiin before me was charged with defeating the World-Eater – the black dragon Alduin. Alduin is the first of all dragons, the strongest of all dragons, and as his title suggests, he is the harbinger of the apocalypse for all of Tamriel. The Dovahkiin before me sealed Alduin away using an artifact of great power. The intention was to erase Alduin completely, to force him out of Nirn and all of Oblivion, but it merely threw Alduin into a time wound. This wound reopened, and Alduin was released. Alduin’s followers, the other dov, were defeated after Alduin was pushed into the wound, and long forgotten. The dov have been rising, the souls returning and long-dead dragons now fly the skies, searching for anyone unwary. Alduin himself has risen, gathering his power once again to destroy all of Nirn, as he was made to do.”

 “You are then, charged with defeating him? You are the Dovahkiin, after all.”

 “Just so. I also have to repair the war, among hundreds of thousands of other tasks. The Dovahkiin must protect all of Skyrim, all of its inhabitants and people and places and creatures. There is much and more going on in Skyrim than just Alduin’s return.”

 “The politics, you mean?”

 “Yes, the politics, the return of necromancers, of great long-dead things, of dangerous bandits and of the other creatures that rose with Alduin. I must put all of them right, which means restoring a great many balances in the world, and this usually puts me in the wonderful position of being on the wrong side of whatever must happen.”

 Lokil said nothing, and neither did Keshaara. There was silence for a long while as the two of them ate the rest of the food she had brought in. She paused briefly to go fetch some tea for the both of them, returning with a cast iron pot and carefully heating it with a hand full of fire until it was the proper temperature for the herbs and tealeaves she had prepared.

 “I can sympathize, Dovahkiin,” Lokil said softly as he delicately picked up the cup she offered him, not looking directly to Keshaara.

 She snorted, a harsh sound in the quietude.

 “I doubt that greatly, Loki of Asgard. I have been imprisoned, beaten, shaped and twisted into things I never wanted to be. I have made promises that cannot be broken to people I cannot stand, I have had to stand by and watch as innocent men are killed because it means the guilty men are dead, I have driven myself to the brink of madness looking for answers that cannot be given by any one thing mortal or immortal. I have had to deal with the Daedric Princes, who delight in all things wrong in order to do what is right. I cannot let myself sleep deeply, because there are things now that want nothing more than to kill me in my sleep. All of Skyrim relies on me defeating this menace and half of Skyrim would like to see me dead. Does that sound at all familiar to you? If so, I am by and further curious to hear your story.”

 Keshaara did not sound the slightest bit upset as she spoke, and that was by careful precision. She was simply stating facts. These were just facts. The simple facts were that her life had been taken from her and given over to some prophecy. That was a fact. She should not be upset by facts.

 “Where I am from, I am considered a prince. Or I was. I have never been the favored son of my parents, constantly in my brother’s shadow. I did what I thought was best, for myself and for those around me. I only ever wanted to make things right, and in doing so, did everything wrong. There was a…an accident. Something that should not have happened, and I was taken back home a traitor, a madman, and a captive. How I went from there to here, I do not know. But…I assure you. I understand,” Lokil offered in return.

She had no response to give him.

 There was a silence between the two people in the room, sitting amongst crumbs and half-finished ale. Keshaara looked down at the food in her hands, unsure of what to say next. She had not intended…she had not meant to say what she had said. Not to Lokil. Not all of it. In fact, she did not know why she had even brought it up. Perhaps it was because he was “other” and not connected to her world at all. Perhaps it was something else. Perhaps she was deeply troubled by all of this and he had been the first to even _try_ to offer sympathy to her.

 Hesitantly, she leaned forward to touch a hand to Lokil’s knee. His eyes widened and he looked to her sharply. But she did not move her hand, and he did not move his knee.

 “If you want to return to your Asgard, Loki, I will see to it that you are returned. Until then, you are my honored guest. What happened to you there, or elsewhere, does not matter to me here. I only need to know that you are no threat to me or my own. If that is true, then I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

 Lokil did not recoil from her touch, but she could tell it made him uncomfortable to have her touch linger as it was. She removed her hand, and sat straight again.

 “Thank you, Keshaara,” Lokil mumbled. He said nothing more and she left it at that.

 “I will go get additional water and tea for you, Lokil. And perhaps a change of clothes. I think I have some men’s clothing around somewhere. They might be a touch large on you, but I can fix that tomorrow morn.”

 Lokil ‘hmm’d in response, but offered no other words, lost in his own thoughts all at once. She watched him for a few moments, trying to gauge his reaction. Leaving him alone seemed like a bad thing, because it seemed like _someone_ should sit with him through the night, and not leave him to his own machinations...but there was no way she was going to wake Argis again. Poor man was constantly dealing with her random comings and goings already, she did not need to disturb his slumber any further than she already had. Gracefully, she stood, careful not to infringe upon Lokil's space again.

 “Keshaara.”

 She was nearly out of the door when she heard him speak her name.

 “Yes, Lokil?”

 “Why did you bring me to your house. What did that serve, but to add to your burden?”

She blinked, caught off guard by the question. Her hand rested on the frame of her door, and she turned to him fully. He regarded her cooly, his eyes hooded, but gaze still piercing. She looked at him, truly looked at him, and Keshaara found no reason to pretend that this was all altruism.

 “Hm. I could give you the gentle truth or a better lie. Which would you rather hear, Lokil, man of the forest? Perhaps I just was concerned for you. Maybe I wanted to figure out who you were and why you were where you were. Or maybe just once I wanted to do something for myself. Maybe you were a curiosity to me and I wanted to study you further. Who knows the truth of my heart's desires? I don’t, for a surity. But you are now my guest, regardless of why I originally brought you to my most favorite of houses. And I tend generously to my guests.”

 She watched him carefully as she spoke, and it would have been impossible to miss the way he changed his demeanor as she spoke - tensing and then relaxing all at once as abject _interest_ and _curiosity_ overwhelmed him. They were of a similar mindset of the other, then. There was something more in his past that he had not told her of, she was sure of it. That being said, of course, she had not told him her entire history either. Potential, story, and intrigue all hung heavily in the air, and this time, it was Keshaara who flinched first, looking away from him to turn to the tasks she had set for herself.

 They were both privately public people, she decided as she walked through her house to fetch the things she needed for tea and for Lokil to dress himself in. The other teakettle was quick to find, the clothing a little more difficult, but she managed.

 She folded the clothes over one arm and navigated her way back to her bedroom.

 “Lokil, I have the clothing, are you…oh, please pardon me.”

 Lokil had disrobed from the waist up, and looked as if he was about to remove his pants as well. When he had heard her, he paused and turned towards her. Both of her eyebrows lifted. 

Goodness, gracious, he truly was built for sin.

 “Thank you Keshaara. I have to ask – did you do anything to me while I was unconscious? I remember having a few wounds, and they are nowhere to be seen.”

 “Yes, I used a healing spell on you, though without being able to see most of your skin, I do not know if there was anything I missed. I should have been able to get anything major, like that knot on your head. I used a calming spell as well, but that was only when you had tackled me. I have no urge to fight you, not really. I’ll leave the clothes on the bed and wait outside for you to be done. If you wish to sleep, I will leave you to that. I will take watch outside, I’m sure being in a strange house will have you on edge, and I do not want you to be uncomfortable.”

 Lokil looked at her oddly, his brows dipping and mouth pursing for the barest moment before he regained his composure and smirked confidently at her once more.

 “It is fine, Keshaara. Would you mind seeing if you missed anything? If you have the ability to heal me, I would much rather there be a proper job done of it.”

 Keshaara nearly broke her neck twisting it away as Lokil stripped out of his pants. No flush burned her cheeks, but she was very unsure of what was happening or why. This was not the way one would invite any manner of intercourse, and she was loathe to make assumptions. He was not from Tamriel. He could not know. Gaunt or no, Lokil was...attractive. Very attractive. Attractive was a poorly word for him. 

 “If you require healing, I will heal you, but this really is not a game to me Lokil. You are a guest in my home, and I do wish to offer you all the hospitality needed.”

 “I think it could be a good idea to be _thoroughly_ checked out by a certified healer,” Lokil drawled, sidling into her view, smiling coyly at her.

 Keshaara nodded once, closed her eyes, and summoned her healing magic. With a gentle movement of her hands, she directed the magic towards him. Squaring her shoulders to him, she worked her magic blind and from a distance, threading healing energy through the air to alight upon his skin with the utmost care. She could hear the exasperation in his sigh as she worked, and could not help the small smile. He had been teasing, apparently, but she still obliged him, healing the few small cuts and scrapes she had missed in her previous pass through. Now that she was paying attention to him, it was easier to see such things. 

 “ _Thank_ you Keshaara.”

 The voice was startlingly close to her, and the Dovahkiin jumped, pulling her hands back towards her chest and ceasing the magicka's pull. Opening her eyes, she was struck with the sight of Lokil naught but a few inches from her, staring intently at her, waiting for a reaction. A devilish grin had worked its way across his face and his eyes glimmered like emeralds in firelight.

 Even this did not cause her to flush. She held his gaze intently, waiting to see what else he would do. Slowly, she dropped her hands to her side, and willed her heartrate slower again. It took her a long few moments to be certain that her voice would not quail when she spoke, and she only intended to speak with a clear tone.

 “Is that all, Lokil?” she said evenly, measuring her words carefully.

 He arched an eyebrow and slowly slid his gaze down the entirety of her body.

 “Unless your hospitality requires you to ge-”

 “Good night, Lokil. I will see you in the morning. The tea is there. Sleep well.”

 Keshaara cut off the probably crass comment from Lokil as soon as she sensed it going somewhere improper. She was no prude, not by any measure or meaning of that word, but she was not one to jump into bed with just anyone. It wasn’t even cold enough to consider it, regardless.He was attractive enough for her tastes, as a surety, but such things were also not uncommon. Keshaara liked beautiful things, and she liked possessing beautiful things and while Lokil was, in fact, a beautiful thing, he was her guest and that meant she was not to make any forward movements unless she was certain of his intentions.

“As you say, Keshaara.”

She turned away from him carefully, without looking anywhere lower than his neck and shoulders, and exited her room, closing the double doors behind her. Lokil was an interestingly antagonistic man when he wanted to be. An attractive, antagonistic person. Oh, certainty of trouble there, but her whole life was trouble. 

Keshaara shrugged off any remaining sense of unease about the man, and sat in front of the door. He still had no armor or arms, and even if he found her weapons throughout her room, none of her armor would fit him, and she was still Dovahkiin. Princeling or no, Lokil was not built like a warrior. She could handle him, if she needed to. Crossing her legs underneath her, she got as comfortable as she could, and began her long watch. The nights of Markarth were cold, and full of terror. For this first night, she would ensure that there would be nothing to disturb her guest. 


	4. Drem

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 She knew it was morning by Argis’s sudden appearance. He had put on his armor, as he always did, and was stalking through the house, preparing things as he normally did. For such a large man, he was surprisingly gentle with his Thane’s possessions, and had yet, to her recollection, break anything of hers.

 He had greeted her with a soft “Good morn, my Thane,” when he saw her sitting watch outside of the room. She nodded a polite “Good morn, Argis,” back to him.

 He went to the front of the house, undoubtedly to tend to her armor. He enjoyed cleaning her armor for her, even though she had constantly told him it was not required. It was something that he did for her, regardless of her statements to do the contrary. Argis was very much like her other Housecarls in that respect. All of them tended to do what they thought was best for her, including occasionally taking on chores she had no intention of doing.

 She heard the characteristic _crackle-snap_ as Argis went about recharging her enchanted weapons and armor, and she chuckled to herself. For a Nord, who by and large as a people did not like magic, he was very comfortable with enchantments and how to tend to them.

For that much, she was incredibly thankful.

It was one less task for her to tend to on her own, or to worry about when she was out in the field. Nothing like not having to worry if your armor was going to lose its extra layer of protection in the middle of a brawl. And sure, sometimes she still had to do such things, but it was less immediately on her mind.

 “My Thane, would you like me to remove non-essentials from your pack for you? It seems heavy.”

 Argis had come around the corner, hefting her small pack in his arms. It was passably heavy, nearly completely filled to the brim with the various treasures she had collected while out and about in Skyrim since the last time she had visited any of her houses. Anything and everything that she could possibly have found and then found useful while she was out.

Fur, gems, blades, armor, gems again, money, amber, things that she wanted, things she loved, things she wanted to look at further, not to mention her spare armor, her food, her potions and philters.

Compiled, it eventually made her pack near unmangeable, especially after she scavenged dragons.

 “Please do, Argis. You are familiar with how to organize everything by now?”

 She was a relatively new Thane of Markarth, and had taken her time in setting the house up properly so that she and Argis had their own separate areas and there were plenty of homey things draped about now. It had taken a bit of the two of them finding some manner of balance between them until they had found something that worked. Each house she owned was organized differently, and while that was moderately frustrating, she had a Housecarl in each to consider. She wanted to make them all comfortable, and that often lead to situations like this.

 “Yes, my Thane. I will make sure it is done to the best of my ability.”

 “Don’t worry yourself over it Argis. I just need room in the pack in case I have to go out in a hurry again. Thank you. Take your time. Get it right, and we can worry about haste later.”

 Argis smiled, his facial tattoo moving with the grin. He really was pleased to be able to help his Thane. There was honor in serving his Thane well, and beyond that, the Thane herself was the Dovahkiin. If there was anything in his life worth bragging over, it was that he was the trusted housecarl to such an amazing hero. He had not taken to her immediately, as most people were wary of her, despite her purported purpose as the savior of Skyrim. But she had greeted him warmly, talked to him and he found himself quickly willing to fight and die for her, not only out of obligation, but out of purpose. He served her, and served gladly now.

 Keshaara remained seated, as she had for the entirety of the night, waving Argis on his way. She was on watch, and would remain so until Lokil –

 The door behind her opened, and Keshaara stood, smiling broadly at her guest. He was a little bleary-eyed, and his hair was still a knotted mess. He looked better for the rest, but it was still obvious that he needed more in the realm of rest and food. She was only too happy to supply it to him.

 “A good morn, Lokil. Did you rest well?”

 “Y-yes, I did. Did you stay out here all night?” he said, looking around the small house.

 He seemed confused by her presence, and Keshaara mirrored his confusion. She leaned back into his field of view, smiling softly at him. 

 “I said I would keep watch over you, did I not? So yes, I stayed awake and seated all night. Did I disturb you with any of my movements?”

 “No, not at all. I thought you would have gone to bed yourself. There was no need for you to sit here all night,” he said, leaning away from her. 

She followed his movements, leaning purposefully into his personal space until she could see the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks.

 “You were in _my_ bed, Lokil. Where else would I have slept? I had received no invitation, and I do so dislike assuming I am invited to bed with someone,” Keshaara said, still smiling. “Let me work the kink out of my back from sitting, and I’ll get breakfast started for all three of us. Argis!”

 Keshaara called for her housecarl, who appeared like magic, peeking around a corner.

 “Do we still have a stocked pantry, or did you eat that gut of yours into existence again?”

 Argis laughed, loud and heartily, but denied having eaten everything. Keshaara shared his laughter, and walked with her housecarl, leaving Lokil standing in her doorway, staring at her.

 “Come on then, Lokil, we shall break fast, and then I will show you where we bathe up. I’m sure you’d like to rinse some of the…leaves from your hair.”

 Loki reached up to his hair, searching for the leaves she had mentioned. There were none, but Keshaara was already gone, wandering towards the cookfire with Argis. The two were chatting amicably, as the usually did. Argis wanted to know of all the great deeds of his Thane, and Keshaara was more than happy to oblige the man. She settled into the role of storyteller easily, smiling around words and food in equal parts, answering every one of Argis' breathless questions.

 “Yes, the bandit leader and his companions never saw me coming. You know as well as anyone else that when I do not want to be seen, I am not. I brought back some ore and assorted things from the mine they had holed up in. I think there’s a new shield in there if you’d like it, Argis.”

 The housecarl grinned sheepishly, worrying the edge of his armor between two of his fingers.

 “I had seen it already, my Thane.”

 Keshaara threw her head back and laughed. Lokil was still staring, but he had come to sit near the two of them, taking to the shadows and dimly lit corners. Her joy brought an answering grin to his own face. He tried to squash it as fast as he could manage, but it did not seem that either of them had noticed his lapse. 

 “Just so, Argis. It is yours.”

 The food she passed between herself, Argis, and Lokil was a simple meal of fruit and bread, with some meat that had been smoked earlier in the year. Keshaara balanced her plate on her knee and continued her stories, speaking around mouthfuls of food, and ensuring that both of the men were eating properly.

 Lokil was silent, observing the two Nords as they talked. Argis loved the tales of his Thane’s bravery and cunning, and it was clear the stories of her taking on dragons with “naught but a war axe!” amused him immensely. The stories she told were true, of course. He could sense no lie in her words as she mimed a dragon falling out of the sky with her hands and a dramatic lean to the side.

 Breakfast was done rather quickly, and Argis excused himself to tend to his Thane’s items again. Lokil and Keshaara finished their meals, and Keshaara fielded the dishes, putting them into their appropriate places, and cleaning the area of crumbs and uneaten food. Lokil sat and observed, and that did not seem to bother her in the slightest. She brushed her hand across his shoulders, and Lokil tensed for the briefest of moments before relaxing against her touch, seeking more of the heat her skin seemed to seep at every moment.

 “I will show you to the baths. I must wash myself off as well, so I’ll be with you, if that is acceptable,” she said in passing, looking down at where her fingers still lingered on his shoulder.

 Lokil gave her an odd look, but did not move away from her touch. Holding her gaze, he nodded once, and rose to follow behind her.

 She struck out into her house, pointing out some of her trophies, taking some time to walk Lokil by her bookshelves, of which she was really quite proud. He seemed most interested in those books, and she promised him full ability to read the books at his leisure when she was out. Everything was organized in a logical manner, and even as Lokil quickly skimmed the book titles, he could see the ebb and flow of myth, fact, and supposed knowledge, based on title alone.

 “Ah, here we are – these are the baths. I had them made myself, which is why they do not look like the rest of the house. The house was built by the dwemer long before my time or the time of anyone living, and the baths were carved out by me, which will explain why it is a far less aesthetically pleasing to the eye.”

 She pushed the door open, and steam rolled out into the hallway. Keshaara breathed the muggy air in, and walked into the room. There were two pools of steaming water, carved out of the rocks that formed the mountains of Markarth. The floor was smooth, and the twin pools looked to be the same all the way through,  though Keshaara knew that the one furthest from the door was much deeper than closer.

 Keshaara dragged a nearby table towards the closest pool and gestured to Lokil.

 “Hop in. I’ll manage your hair. It doesn’t look like you’ve seen the right side of a razorblade in months, and I’ll not have you thrown into Cidhna on suspicion of being an escapee. We’ll get some armor for you after this.”

 “I don’t need any armor,” Lokil said stiffly, moving towards the water slowly.

 He had put his old clothing on in the morning, not trusting the clothes Keshaara had brought him. They felt odd on his skin, and he had no reason to trust her just yet. Not so far as to allow her to dress him, at least. Besides, her offered clothes were of an obviously inferior quality to his own, rags they may be. He was a prince, and even in rags, he was going to wear rags that were befitting his station.

 “Mage-robes then. Whatever it is you need to feel protected from the things that lurk the nights and days of Skyrim. A weapon too. After, of course, I take a razor to that skeevernest you call hair,” she said flippantly, gesturing for him to get in the pool already.

 It did not seem as if she was really going to take “No” for an answer, and Lokil complied, stripping down (as Keshaara politely averted her eyes) and entered the water. It was startlingly warm, but not so much so that it scalded him. The knot in between his shoulders melted and he shivered in delight. She allowed him time to acclimate to the water, and while Lokil worked on letting his muscles unknot.

 Keshaara rolled the legs of her clothing up, and sat at the edge of the pool.

 “Rest your back on my legs and I’ll work through your hair,” she offered, patting her knees to beckon him over.

 Lokil moved as she directed, comfortable at least, with this. It was not so different from being tended to as he had once been as a prince. The familiarity soothed him, and when he closed his eyes for brief moments, it was easy to pretend so much was different. He was back in Asgard, being tended to by a servant girl, and a passing pretty one. He had...done this before...

She was apparently used to doing this sort of thing as well, because the table she had pulled up was low enough that she could reach for the things atop it as she worked her hands through his hair. Her fingers rubbed his scalp in soothing circles, and Lokil quickly found his eyes drifting closed as relaxation stole up on him.

 There was a small jug of scented oil that she placed near her hip, and every so often, she would dip her fingers into it to help her smooth Lokil’s hair out. She gently removed twigs and undid knots that she found, working methodically and slow. He leaned back against her legs, pressing his chin into her hand, letting her fingers skim his throat as she pulled his hair back.

 “Dip your head under the water and give it a good scrub, if you will.”

 Lokil was surprisingly pliant to her request, and did as he was asked. He dipped under the water, letting the heat envelop him, running his hands through his hair and scrubbing. The hot water on his skin made his languorous movements through the water all the more soothing. 

Keshaara waited patiently for him to surface and return to his original position at her knees. Her clothes were rather wet by now, but she did not mind overmuch. She would be bathing soon enough. He rested his head back between her knees, his eyes half-closed.  Just as gently as she had done before, she ran the comb through his hair, using slightly larger amounts of the juniper-scented oil as she worked to facilitate the process. Once the last tangle was tamed and Lokil’s hair was the color of fire-touched obsidian, she put the brush down and reached for the razor on the table.

 “Rinse again, and then I’ll trim your hair up. I’ll make you look a proper Nord yet.”

 Lokil blew bubbles under the water this time, peeking up at her from under the water, and Keshaara laughed as he resurfaced. She smiled at him, a crooked thing, and beckoned him back to her. Lokil slid smoothly back into place with a purr, stretching languidly against her knees.

 “You are an odd man, Lokil. Come here, let us get that hair tamed all the way.”

 Keshaara worked quickly, wielding the razorblade with the deftness of a woman who has trimmed the hair of others before. She easily shortened his hair by three inches, careful to trim away any hair that looked damaged beyond any salvation. During the process, her left hand came forward to cradle Lokil’s chin. He was not fidgeting, not really, but it was her way of ensuring he did not move as her blade moved.

 Her thumb traced his chin, skipping over that scar she could feel but not see. That made him stiffen, just ever so slightly, and when she noticed that, she withdrew her hand with a soft “Apologies,” and continued to trim his hair away. Lokil relaxed again, leaning back against her, his eyes half closed. Keshaara looked down at him, a small grin still on her face. He was more than passing handsome like this, despite the lingering thinness that hovered about his ribs.

 It was a few more minutes before she was done, which she announced by nudging him with her knee and picking her feet up out of the water.

 “There is soap in that divet there. I’m going to heat the water for myself in the other pool, and wash the past week off my skin.”

 Lokil said nothing, and just watched her with his wild-fire eyes. Keshaara caught his gaze and held it, unflinching away from the scrutiny she felt in his stare. There were far more dangerous things in the world that she had faced down. This naked being in her baths, staring at her in a near-challenge was far from the worst thing she had faced in the past week. Unless that challenge would give rise to something more, she was not doing anything further.

And he was pleasant to look at.

 She waited until he blinked, and only then did she turn her head away. She walked carefully to the other bath, and when she noted Lokil still watching her, a small grin touched her face.

 “ _Yol_."

 Fire burst from her mouth, alighting upon the water with a hiss of steam and rush of heat. By the time the tendrils of steam had cleared enough for Lokil to see her clearly she was already undressed and in the water, submerged all the way up to her nose and humming happily.

 Her bathing routine was quick, but rigorous, as she scrubbed her shoulder-length auburn hair clean, wiped her old war-paint from her face, and cleaned blood and dirt from her skin. Keshaara ducked under the water every few moments as she cleaned herself.

 Light danced across her fingers as she worked magic on herself, healing small wounds and bruises, using the same green calming spell on herself to allow her body to unknot from her week in the wilderness. Lokil watched her all the while, and she was clearly aware of that, as she kept her back to him so as not to be improper. Still, he watched her carefully, from the small dimples to either side of her tailbone, to the muscles and scars that traced up and down her back.

The view was...pleasant.

Her magic lit her skin with gold and green, and with a hunger he was not willing to admit, he watched the colors play across her body. His colors. A sudden deep need to see more of that struck him, and he was very quick to shake it away. He did not need to be thinking of such things right now. Not when he was relying on her to keep him safe and figure out what the fuck had happened to get him here. It did not...he did not...need to be watching the way water slid down her back, or how her muscles tensed and relaxed with her every movement. He did not need to watch. 

But he did.

 It was clearly something of a soothing ritual to her to bathe like this, he noted, as she stretched her back and arms out to better allow her magic to work through her. If he had not seen her citrine eyes glance to him every once in a while, he would have been convinced she was utterly unaware of his presence.

 The stillness and the easy silence were broken by Argis, who burst in through the door, startling both of the bathers. Keshaara stood in the bath, rising to meet her housecarl.

 “My Thane, there was an accident at Calcemo’s research site. They are saying the falmer are swarming!”

 Keshaara was still for but a single moment, processing the information as given to her. She stormed up out of her bath, not caring that her naked form was on display to Lokil and Argis. Argis averted his eyes, and Lokil was not going to do anything as foolish as that.

Keshaara was a woman built leanly, and sturdily. There was muscle beneath her skin, and scars dotted the tanned landscape of her body. She was a woman and a warrior and carried herself as such. Her body was tight, lean, untouched by age or the ravages therein. Lokil was happy he was still standing in the water. No one could see how his body reacted to her. Shamefully.

 “I will go.”

 She reached for a clean bolt of fabric hanging from a nearby rack, and wrapped it about herself, walking towards the door. Lokil rose from the water of his own bath as well, though Argis and Keshaara both were clearly focused elsewhere. He dressed as quickly as he could manage, and then rushed out to find where Keshaara and Argis were.

 “Argis, keep Lokil here,” she commanded over her shoulder as she moved towards the front door of her home.

 “My Thane!”

 “Keshaara!”

 Both objected simultaneously - and presumably for the same reason.

 “Nchuand-Zel is _no_ place for a waif and a housecarl who cannot follow my orders. I am going alone, and if you follow I will not hesitate to count you among those who need to be put in place. Argis, you are here to do as I command, and as your Thane, you are tasked with _my_ guest safe. If there has truly been a break as Calcemo describes, there is no telling what will be coming from beneath the palace. It is bad enough that the Jarl has been endangered, I will not suffer the indignity of a guest’s death. Do you understand?”

 Keshaara’s voice had a bite it usually lacked, and she had drawn herself up to her full height to stare down her housecarl. There was undoubtedly something incredibly intimidating about the woman in that moment. She looked _more_ than regal – she was ferocious and unstoppable.

 She was Dovahkiin.

 “Yes, my Thane.”

 “Outfit Loki with whatever clothing he needs to protect himself. He has full access to all my arms and armaments, let him choose from what is present. Do not allow anyone else access into my home while I am gone. I am relying on you to carry out my orders and not go rushing into battle.”

 Argis bowed, thoroughly chastised.

 “Assist me in preparing. Have you gone through everything in the pack?”

 Lokil followed behind as Keshaara, uncaring of her state of near-nakedness stalked through her house, leaving wet footprints in her wake. Argis was at her heels, grabbing things off shelves as she asked for them, holding them carefully in his arms.

 When she approached the mannequin with her armor at the door, Lokil expected to see a long series of her needing assistance in getting into her armor, all of which looked like it had been fit to her exacted measurements. Instead, she merely touched the shoulder of the mannequin, and her armor flashed onto her body. It happened in between one blink and the next, and when neither Keshaara nor Argis flinched, Lokil understood that this was something usual for this place.

 Keshaara reached for her axe, and a bow. There was already a quiver of arrows on her back, with bronze-colored fletching.

 “Honor to you, my Thane. May your blade strike true, and your arrows fly straight.”

 Keshaara nodded and turned towards the door.

 “I will return when the Falmer have been routed. Please, mind after Lokil. If this is the day my axe fails me, I want you to listen to what he says and treat him as well as you can. Lakeview Manor is his in my death, as are the tomes I have collected. My arms and armor here are yours, Argis, as is Vlindrel Hall. Live a long life, my Housecarl.”

 Argis’s jaw clenched. He had heard this many times before, and every time, news of his Thane’s survival had greeted him within the week. But Nchuand-Zel was a completely different issue. It was dangerous, and it was horrible.

 Lokil said nothing, still standing and watching.

 “Yes, my Thane.”

 Keshaara nodded once, and then turned to the door. The sunlight that burst through the door as she opened it dazzled her eyes, but she stepped into it, regardless.

 She was Dovahkiin. This was her job.


	5. Grah

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 Keshaara had gotten decently far into Nchuand-Zel before encountering her first falmer. The damned thing had startled her, coming around a corner before she could react with anything more than a quick punch and a burst of fire from her hand. The swarm must have retreated further into the old dwemer place, which did not comfort her. Immediately, she searched the area near her for any further falmer. She was not going to fall to a swarm again. It was decidedly uncomfortable to do so.

Luckily, there had not been any others around, but from that point on, she had gone much slower, stalking forward in full silence. She had grown so accustomed to her heavy armor that the only thing she had to worry about making noise would be her own accidental sounds.

She advanced slowly, careful to peek around corners with her bow drawn, just in case. Keshaara had to be careful – dwemer ruins had been cruel to her in the past and she did not want a repeat experience. She had more than a fair few scars to prove it, and she was moderately certain some of her blood was responsible for the flaking brown detrius on the floor.

She finally approached the largest open cavern, pausing in a blind corner to try and get a better view of what she was facing. She could see at least ten falmer, but she knew that in a swarm of these creatures, there could be many, many more. The best course of action would be to try and get them to move so she could count all of them, but that could alert them to her position.

The blindness of the falmer, while a detriment when there were things to see, only made them that much better at figuring out where she was placed if she tried something like that.

 Carefully, she reached into her pouch, pulling one of the many scrolls from its depths. Kneeling, she made herself as hard to see as possible as she checked over the scroll. She read it, to ensure it was going to do what she needed it to do, and then activated it. A flash of light obscured her vision, cloaking her eyes in a momentary haze of magic. She could see all forms of life down below, and easily counted thirty falmer, and she suspected the doors that led into the real depths of Nchuand-Zel hid more falmer behind them.

 It was not going to be easy to clear them out, but she had to do it. It was a danger to all things in Markarth if the falmer got out of Nchuand-Zel, and she could not allow that to happen. She turned her head back, just to ensure that there were no falmer or skeevers behind her, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

 There was a hazy blue figure just behind her. There was no way anyone should be there and it seemed as if this particular being had been following her for a while. She pulled an arrow from her quiver and nocked it to her bow.

 She pulled the arrow back, and slowly pointed it to her invisible follower, who to their credit did not move. Keshaara did not trust them, and she especially did not trust their stillness now that she had identified them. Magical means to follow behind her and obscure themselves meant _danger_.

 The magic faded from her vision before she could see if the being was turning the red of an enemy. So she simply pushed the arrow forward, knowing that unless the thing had moved, the arrowtip was going to end up pressing into its throat.

 She watched as blood beaded at the tip of the arrow and built up, running down the arrowhead. She did not let up the pressure, waiting for the interloper to reveal themselves. The blood smelled… _cold_ to her nose. It smelled like frost and northern winds, and there was nothing else in the entire world that smelled like that. Not in the blood of anything she knew of, at least.

 To her incredible shock, Lokil shimmered into existence, his head tilted back and the arrow pressing dangerously into his neck. Her eyes went wide and perhaps, too noisily, she gasped in surprise.

 Keshaara pulled the arrow back, stashing it back in the quiver and rushing forward to press a hand to his neck before he could do it himself. His blood ran over her fingers in slow pulses. The golden light of healing danced across her hands again, and the wound sealed itself. Still, she kept her hand in place for a good time longer, frowning deeply at the man.

 He opened his mouth to talk, and she covered his mouth with her free hand with enough force to topple the both of them. She landed nearly atop him in a mess of limbs and armor. For a long, long moment, she was utterly still, her head cocked to the side to listen for any curious falmer. Certainly, that particular tumble had been loud, and while things fell in Nchuand-Zel all the time, she did not discredit the falmer's ability to hear the differences between the two. Keshaara took her hand away from his neck to hold a finger up to her lips.

His blood smeared across her mouth, and her tongue danced across her lips. She tasted his blood. His eyes fixated on her tongue and her bloodstained hand, but before he could say anything about it, her fingers were moving.

 [The falmer are blind, but they have very good hearing, do _not_ make a sound] she signed with her free hand, using the combat signals she had been made to learn a while ago.

 Lokil shrugged, and Keshaara took the indifference for not understanding.

She huffed, grabbed him by the collar of his ragged shirt, and after a quickly removing her helmet, kissed him soundly. It was Lokil’s turn to freeze up under the sudden intimate motion, but he returned the gesture, pulling her head closer to his and kissing her back. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pinning her against him, not releasing her when she tried to move away. His lips moved across hers, his tongue flicking over the seam of her lips, and when she opened her mouth, he took the invitation gladly, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, tasting the power in her breath and the remnants of his blood on her tongue. 

Unlike the previous time, she allowed this for a good while longer, slow to react to him, but...she did. She moved slowly, her mouth working across his hesitantly, her gauntleted hand reaching up to cup his chin. He grabbed the back of armor and held her tight. Her teeth caught his lower lip and she sucked a bruise onto his lip.

Startled, Lokil moaned into her mouth, his breath leaving him all at once.  That seemed to awaken something in Keshaara. She snarled and pulled her head away. She pushed Lokil away from her, sitting up over the top of him and wiping her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. Lokil tried not to feel the warm spears of satisfaction that wormed through his chest at the sight of her reddened lips.

 [Please for the sake of everything let that have worked. Can you combat-sign?]

 [[I could before, but I never mind getting some affection from a lovely woman.]] Lokil signed back to her, a smug smirk on his face.

 Keshaara rolled her eyes, but smiled as she put her helmet back on.

 [Well played, Lokil. I believe that I owe you another Riften kiss for that bit of trickery.]

 He quirked an eyebrow at her and she turned away, not wanting him to see how she could have, perhaps, been affected by such a breach of conduct.

 [Stay here, and I will clear it out. Stay hidden. You should be safe. Did you grab a weapon?]

 [[I’m going with you, and no, I didn’t.]]

 Keshaara screwed her eyes shut, baring her teeth for a moment as she tried to keep her temper under control.

 [Did you even think? Stay here. I can’t defend you and clear the falmer out as well. I need you to stay safe, Lokil. I do not want you to come to harm, understand?]

 He shrugged.

 [[I will be fine, Keshaara. You don’t need to worry about that. I am a warrior.]]

 [I wish that you would put on some armor or magerobes, regardless. If you must follow, please stay silent.]

 Lokil nodded, and Keshaara began to move. She stayed low as she walked, stalking forward in utter silence, her bow in front of her and an arrow readied to fly. Not, however, the arrow that had Lokil’s blood on it. She edged forward, and Lokil followed behind, his steps just as muffled as hers. Her first arrow flew far, hissing through the air and hitting the falmer she had marked. The creature died immediately, consumed by fire that appeared from nowhere.

 This roused the other falmer, who approached their fallen companion, curious as to what had happened. Keshaara fired off three more arrows, each finding their marks again. The distance protected her from immediate detection, though she knew that every moment she paused between shots, she was increasing the chance of the swarm finding her and Lokil. She took out five, then ten, then fifteen falmer, her arrows flying straight and true. She continued on her path, advancing out onto the wide, rail-less bridge, Lokil following behind.

 She had cleared out a good portion of the falmer she had seen, and had allowed herself the luxury of thinking that it would not be too difficult. This had been a rather easy problem to fix, perhaps Calcemo had overreacted and Argis had transmitted that along as well.

 “Keshaara…Keshaara look.”

 Lokil’s voice sounded so loud in the echoing dwemer ruins that she flinched away from him.

 [What are you do-] “Oh, by the _Nine._ ”

 Lokil was pointing below, and then swept his hands from side to side, indicating the doors where a true swarm of falmer were crawling out of. They all clearly saw her and Lokil, despite their stealth and the precautions they had taken. Hundreds of them.

Thousands.

 The look of despair that crossed Keshaara’s face was unlike anything that Lokil had ever seen in all his ages. She had to think quickly. This was not the worst thing possible, but it was not very far from the top of that unfortunate list.

 She grabbed Lokil by his collar again, and pulled him close. He objected to the constant collar-pulling, but she shushed him with a quick cuff to the ear. Startled, Loki blinked and looked back to her. Not ever in his many years had someone ever had the absolute gall to do that to him, but Keshaara was not even paying him mind in that moment. Magic was already curling around her, shimmering in the air like heat from a fire. 

He stared at her, transfixed.

 “Stay there!” she commanded.

 She stashed her bow over her back and shoulder, and lifted both of her hands high over head. Golden light gathered about both her hands, expanding out to consume her entire body, and when she punched downwards, a golden circle encompassed both her and Lokil. He could hardly help his surprised grunt as he felt her magic settle on his skin, worming deep in him to mend small wounds and bolster his body in ways he was rather convinced were entirely too familiar.

 “Stay in the circle! You’re going to feel really ill in a few minutes. Are you okay with the cold?”

 “It won’t harm me,” he offered, deeply interested in what was going to happen.

 Keshaara did not question him, merely drew her next spell up into her hands, holding it ready. Lokil could see the frost creeping up her arms, sending spinning fractals of ice creeping across her steel armor. He watched the blooming patterns with unabashed interest. She was commanding a great deal of power in that moment, and as close as they were just then, he could practically feel her intention to do harm grating at the point between reality and magic. The cold dragged at him.

 She waited for the falmer to advance, not unleashing the growing tide of power until the moment was right.

 And she waited.

 And waited -

until the last possible moment, to move. The swarm was nearly upon the two of them, Lokil pressed close to her back, his own hands up in a defensive posture. She was mad, utterly mad, to allow the swarm this close, and he was going to have to do _something_ if she was not.

 “Krii Lun **_Aus_**.”

 Her voice was low and menacing, and Lokil felt the pressure wave of power settle through him.

This was one of the thu’ums she had spoken of before, he knew, but the sudden shift in how the world felt was startling. It felt like hooks in his soul were dragging him down, out of his body, urging death and decay upon his still-living body. The golden light that surrounded them both grew all the brighter, and as the words dragged _down_ , the spell pulled _up._ The falmer that surrounded them shuddered, some dropping off the bridge already, fainting dead where they stood.

 That still left tens, if not hundreds of falmer around them. Keshaara knelt as they rushed, pulling the magic she was weaving even tighter around her. Lokil stared down at her, wondering what possibly could come next after that display.

 All at once, power exploded outwards from her, and a blizzard sprang from her hands, freezing the falmer where they stood. She threw her arms wide, letting the blizzard consume all of her magicka. It spun and roared through the cavern, shaking rocks down from the ceiling, freezing and harming anything in its path. Ice grew in dagger-sharp spires, impaling those who fell, and capturing those not fast enough to run. The entire cavern trembled at the power she unleashed, and she showed no signs of stopping until she was made to.

 Lokil could only watch as the ice lashed Keshaara as brutally as it did the falmer, freezing her armor, and, he could only assume, the skin beneath it. He watched her carefully, unaffected by the cold, as she pushed the blizzard to even greater intensity. Only when her magicka was truly exhausted did her blizzard begin to fade.

 There were but a few falmer left, and Kesharaa  mustered her last strength and stood. She opened her mouth and roared at the remaining falmer, beating a gloved hand against her chest. The courage of the remaining beasts left, and they fled en masse, hastily retreating to the depths of Nchuand-Zel. With many of the dwemer Animunculi destroyed, the falmer would undoubtedly be back again eventually. But that was a problem for another time.

 Keshaara gasped for air, looking to Lokil first before tending to herself. The golden circle encompassing them fractured, and then broke, shattering into light.

 “Are you harmed?” she grit out as her lips split open, turning to Lokil.

 “No, I am not. But…you do not look…well,” he offered, reaching forward hesitantly to offer comfort, and only retracting his hand when he recognized what he was doing.

 She laughed, swiping a hand at her lips, and rolling her shoulders.

 “I have had worse.”

 Her tongue peeked out of her mouth, the tip dancing towards the dual wounds on her lips before she caught herself and closed her mouth again. She knew from experience that would just make it hurt all the more. But this was not as bad as it could have been. She was tired, yes, and she would need to rest after this and heal what the blizzard had done to her flesh, but for now, there was no more danger and she could enjoy a moment of respite before the long walk back to the Jarl's Hold to explain what was going on.

“We should head back to the surface. The falmer may return, yet. The dead should keep the majority of them dissuaded until the guards can come down and-”

All she had heard was a soft _thwip_ hissing through the air, but the impact of the arrow into her back was enough to knock her into Lokil. He caught her and held her up as best he could, struggling for footing on the ice-covered bridge. She was heavy in her armor. 

 A falmer arrow was protruding from her back. She did not need to really think about it to feel the poison starting to work through her system. Falmer always poisoned their weapons, and it was a rotating blend of whatever nastiness they could find down in their hidey-holes. Her knees, already shaking from the two master-class spells she threw in short succession, gave out. The pain wracked her body, draining her energy to the point where she was moderately certain she was about to black out.

 She could vaguely hear Lokil shouting her name, and the brief flash of relief as he pulled the arrow out of her back, but she was having a very hard time focusing on anything other than her innate need to _protect_. She had to protect him. He was a guest of her house, a man unarmed and unarmored, and there were clearly still falmer intent upon harming them.

 Keshaara struggled to get her feet under her again, drawing her axe to engage the advancing falmer, but Lokil was already moving. She could only watch in horror and amazement as he summoned armor from…somewhere, gilding himself in gold, black and green and throwing his own magic at the falmer. His magic was all a deep green color she could not recognize, and had effects she had never seen before. Knives danced in his hands as he gutted and destroyed the falmer.

 Her drugged mind could only fixate on how stunning the armor was, and how if she had seen that armor when he had first fallen out of the tree, she may have been more receptive to that initial kiss. His armor fit to his body like sin on a dremora, and the manic way he threw himself into the short-lived fight with the remaining falmer was entrancing. They were slaughtered, their innards spread across the frozen bodies of their fellow beasts, and died screaming. It was a moment of sheer brutality, and Keshaara could not _help_ but be impressed with him.

 “I-you-” Keshaara started, shaking her head when she realized her words were failing her terribly. She started again: “I didn’t realize you had such a trick up your sleeve, Lokil. Had I known you had that armor, I would have stolen it from you.”

 “You would not have dared do such a thing,” Lokil spat at her.

 Keshaara laughed, picking herself up off the ground and standing on unsteady feet. She swayed for a moment, seeking her balance with the poison still running havoc through her blood, and found it after a breathless pause.

 “You really don’t know anything about me then, Lokil. That armor would look stunning on me and it is something that I have never seen in all my time in Skyrim. Why on earth wouldn’t I take it from you? It would be a thing of beauty to wear and no one would have argued my rightful possession of it. Especially right after you had assaulted me – I could have done anything to you.”

 She weakly kicked the nearest falmer off the bridge, turning back towards the surface. Keshaara walked slowly, nursing her wounds and her bloodied and frostbitten body as she moved. The arrow had complicated things, and now she rather felt as if she needed to...have some help, once she got back to her home. An unlikely thought and unlikelier to have a pleasant conclusion, but her wounds had crossed a threshold with that arrow-strike, and she needed certain things she just could not do on her own.

 “And you did nothing more than take me into your home, declare me guest, stand guard at night, feed and cared for me, alone, in your baths, after such an impugnity on your honor.”

 His voice slid into her ears and she did her very best not to shiver.

Battle-lust was something easily twisted, and the thrill of victory, of living, of winning, of _really living_ was still singing in her veins.

The brush with poison only heightened everything. She was alive. Wounded, but alive, and Lokil was alive. Dark desires swam to the surface, and while her body may be incapable of acting on them in that moment, they still rose, tainting her thoughts with improper need.

She was a women ridden hard by emotion and want, and it was too easy to turn to Lokil with expectations that should remain unfulfilled. So she remained facing away, walking unsteadily on a slick bridge, back towards the surface. It was the best choice in the moment.

 “Just so,” she said with laughter in her voice. “Just so.”

 He spun her around, and her boots slipped on the ice-slicked bridge. She fell to her knees at his feet, and this time, she remained there, looking tiredly up at him. Getting up in that moment was a task entirely beyond her. She needed to catch her breath. 

 “Yes, Lokil?” she drawled, her hands on her knees. 

 “Why are you _doing_ this?”

 Keshaara made a face at Lokil. Between the pain and desires and now this oddly stilted conversation, she was beginning to grow irritated with this.

 “Doing what? Kneeling? I tripped. Fighting? I am Dovahkiin. Suffering your presence? You are interesting. Being too tired to take you seriously? I was poisoned and I haven’t slept in a few days. To which are you referring?”

 He pulled her to her feet by _her_ collar this time, picking her up as easily as she had pulled him around.

She made a small noise of surprise – most people could barely lift her favored armor, and he hefted both it and her in it. He even lifted her a few inches off the ground, trying to impose his power over her.

Her eyes were dazzled with the sheer craftsmanship and beauty of the armor Lokil wore, the way his emerald eyes glittered, the hard lines of his cheek and jaw, his gilded helm and the wisps of jet-black hair that escaped it to frame his face. Had she been a more envy-driven woman, she may have debased herself just then to try and feel the strands of his hair between her hands again.

She had felt it once before, and he was...stunning. A punch-drunk smile slipped across her face as she drank in the absolutely enrapturing sight of Lokil in battle regalia. She had always enjoyed seeing a man in armor.

 “You mock me.”

 “Not at all. I would not mock an honored guest of my house. Nor a man I took the liberty of tending to. Hardly becoming of me.”

 Lokil’s face turned into a sneer for the merest of moments, but he did put her down. She struggled to find her footing for a moment, and his grip did not move from her until he was certain she could stand on her own once again.

 Keshaara smiled, a crooked thing, and turned to walk out of the ruins again. Lokil’s armor faded from him, leaving him in the pale green rags once again. After a moment, where he watched her walk, noting the blood dripping down her back from the arrow wound, and how she was walking as if she was a woman twice her age, he followed behind her. His heart still hammered against his chest. He had seen how she had looked at him, how she had looked when she fought, and now...well, now he was falling into step behind this odd woman without any further thought.


	6. Aus

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

Keshaara was slow to get through Nchuand-Zel. Her steps were careful and deliberate, and even then she would stumble every few paces over an uneven stone in the path. The poison was stronger than she had given it credit to being.

She did not ask for Lokil for assistance, and did not cry out when she made a movement that irritated any of her number of wounds. The only indication of anything being wrong was the slow leak of blood from between the plates of her armor, and the occasional soft, sharp gasp when she turned a way that irritated the wounds.

 The pair walked in silence, up and up and up, back towards the exit of the deep ruins. Keshaara was breathing heavily at about the halfway point as she estimated it, struggling to get the right amount of air into her lungs.

With her battle-rage faded from her, she was having problems dealing with the pain of frostbite. She had not regenerated enough of her magicka to heal herself, and was not willing to use any of the many potions she had in her pack. Not when there were much worse things that could happen. They were not safe yet, and she was still strong enough to fight if she absolutely had to.

 She was too cautious, she knew, but there was nothing helping it. She had to be cautious, she had to be on guard, she had to do so much and she could not risk being caught unprepared.

 Finally, the large bronze door that led back into the Jarl’s palace was in front of her. All she had to do was open it and step through to tell Calcemo and all the curious Thalmor what had transpired.

 But she paused.

 She stared at the door to Understone Keep, her shoulders sagging and body listing heavily. She caught herself on the doorframe, but only just barely.

 Her breaths still came in heavy, desperate pants, and the pain was quickly becoming too much. She rested the horns that protruded out of her helmet on the door frame as well, leaning heavily into the moment of rest.

There was not much else she could do. She was not going to fall to her knees again, nor was she going to show any other weakness to Lokil.

She just had to get through Understone Keep and back to her house. That was all she had to do. Get through the Keep, get through Markarth, up the stairs to Vlindrel Hall, get inside, lock the door, and then she could collapse. That was everything.

 She remained still until her breathing had resumed a more normal pace and she could bear the pain her body was in. Lokil had been silent the entire time, but as she stirred and pushed herself back up, he spoke.

 “Why are you doing this?”

 Keshaara did not answer immediately. She turned her head towards him, standing at her full height with her shoulders back. Fresh blood leaked from the wound between her shoulders, and he knew that doing such a simple thing must have been near agony for her.

 “I am _Dovahkiin_.”

 The words gave her strength, and with a clenched jaw, Keshaara pushed the door open.

 Calcemo was standing outside, along with a group of guards bearing the Markarth crest on their shields. No one cheered her, no one lifted a hand to greet her.

 “The majority of the falmer are dead. The guards should be able to take out the rest. Stay in groups of four. There are plenty of dead falmer for you to harvest what you need from them, Calcemo.”

 The mage smiled and thanked her for her service, and sent the guards in. Keshaara watched them pass. There were enough falmer still alive that they would not all come out, but that was no longer her problem. They would see the extent of what the swarm could have been, and know that she had still done them a favor.

 “Why did you not kill all of the falmer, oh great Dovahkiin?”

 It was the Thalmor Justicar, approaching with a contingent of brutes behind him. Keshaara stared at him coldly.

 “Because I am but one person. Because the swarm is dead. Because there will always be falmer in that ruin and Calcemo should not be investigating as deep as he is. Because many reasons, but none, I think, that are as good as the reason: that I would hate to deprive you of my gleaming smile, winning charm, dashing good looks and that touch of Nordic pride that seems to get your panties all knotted up. Good day, sir Ondolemar. May the… _Eight_ protect you.”

 Keshaara had advanced as she spoke, giving her dismissal of the Thalmor mere inches from him. She was easily taller than him, and stared down at the shorter Mer, smiling with a mouth that suddenly seemed too full of teeth.

 Ondolemar did not quail beneath her grin, merely huffed and turned away. Keshaara stood still as his walked past them, and shoulder-checked one of his guards as he passed too close to her. She and Lokil walked away from the cries of disdain.

 “And just _who_ is your companion, Dovahkiin?” Ondolemar purred, turning quickly to grab Lokil by the arm.

 There was no time for the Thalmor to react before Keshaara was standing in front of Lokil, her axe drawn. It was not in a threatening position, not yet, but her sudden movement and the fact that she was within easy striking distance made Ondolemar withdraw his hand.

 “An honored guest of Thane Keshaara of Markarth, who has partaken of her mead and bread.”

 “That does not mean he is exempt from questioning by the Thal-”

 “He is an _honored guest_ of my House, Justicar Ondolemar. If you wish to break my guestright and assault him in my presence, I assure you it will be the last gesture you make before I tear down Understone Keep around your ears. You may be Mer, but you have no permission to harass my guest. Keep your hands _off_ of him. Because if harm befalls him, you will answer to me, and there is law and lore that tells me exactly what I am entitled to do to someone who has so egregiously overstepped.”

 Keshaara spoke loud enough that the Nord guards that had remained behind heard. Hospitality and honor was of utmost importance to the Nord people, and she was sure to speak clearly enough that those around her could bear witness to what she was saying.

 Ondolemar lifted one hand, a spell starting to dance at his fingertips. Keshaara snarled, bringing her axe up.

 “Ondolemar! Mind yourself!”

 The Justicar withdrew, looking to the man who had entered.

 “My Jarl Igmund,” Keshaara said, sheathing her axe at once and inclining her head. “You honor us with your presence.”

 Ondolemar whipped around to stare at Keshaara. Lokil watched her smile, and watched just as directly as her smile faded to a perfect mask as she faced the Jarl of Markarth.

 “And you honor us as Thane, good Keshaara. What is this business with Ondolemar?”

 “He was assaulting my honored guest, Lokil of Winterhold. My apologies if I was too brash, for I am but a simple woman, but as a guest of a Thane, I would not stand by while he was harmed. Especially after standing beside me against the falmer swarm. Lokil is both honored guest and responsible for my survival. I took an unfortunate wound and he tended to it so that I could carry on fighting.”

 “Then he is an honored guest of Markarth as well. Ondolemar, I believe you owe our Thane’s honored guest an apology,” Igmund said magnanimously, looking to the Justicar with a smile.

 Ondolemar looked more likely to turn into a dragon than offer Lokil a proper apology, but still mumbled something that could have been an apology. Keshaara smiled sweetly at him.

 “My thanks for your apology, Justicar Ondolemar. I will hope that this bout of nastiness will not sour the relationship between us.”

 The Mer looked like he was about to explode, but graciously accepted her apology before walking away. Keshaara’s grin morphed into something practically ecstatic as Ondolemar left, and she caught Lokil’s gaze with a wink.

 “Jarl Igmund, you honor me with your defense of my guest. I thank you.”

 Keshaara bowed again, and the Jarl waved her off.

 “We are honored by your Thaneship, Dovahkiin.”

 She bowed her head in acceptance and when the Jarl made no other words for her, she nodded to Lokil, and turned her head towards the exit.

 Keshaara walked briskly towards the exit, still standing tall and proud. She nodded polite greetings to anyone who offered her one, but did not stay to chat. People called greetings to her, or chastised her for actions previous to this most recent excursion into Nchuand-Zel. She smiled and accepted the mild praises, along with the mild annoyances, but said nothing to anyone.

 If anything, her pace quickened. As soon as they were out of Understone Keep, she walked faster, heading back to her house. One of her hands came up to clutch at her stomach, but she did not let her shoulders sag or collapse.

She did not answer Lokil’s questions or even acknowledge that she had heard them, not until she had shoved open the door to her home and stumbled inside. She put a hand on the mannequin, and as before, all her armor snapped off of her.

 All at once the severity of her wounds was apparent. The places where her armor was thin or pulled away from her body were easily visible by the black bands of broken and deadened skin that had been severely frostbitten.

Her neck looked the worst of it, blackened and reddened, with patches of skin already broken and flaking away. Her back was a bloodied mess, and the wound from the arrow was clearly infected by the poison. There was blood and clear pus and thick yellowed pus as well. Blackened veins traced outwards from the wound, and every small movement she made was easily visible as causing further harm to that part of her body.

 “Help me to the baths, Lokil. Please?”

 Her voice was thin and breathy, and it was clear she did not have the strength to call for Argis.

 So Lokil did instead, gently supporting her with an arm. She leaned heavily on him, her head lolling unsteadily. He thought for a moment she was going to manage to pull through this, but then she collapsed entirely, her legs going out from underneath her, and Lokil had to move fast to catch her before she fell.

 “Argis! Argis, Keshaara needs assistance!” he called into the house, hoping that he would not have to do this on his own. 

 The housecarl did not respond. Presumably he went out looking for Lokil when his clone vanished, which left the two of them alone in the house. In his arms, Keshaara roused herself, and started walking on her own again.

She the walk to the baths unassisted, walking slowly and methodically, because it was taking all of her strength to stay on her feet. Lokil moved quickly to keep pace with her, 

 “He’ll be outside, go call out there. I can make it to the baths. He’ll know what needs to be done.”

 Lokil, rather unused to taking commands from anyone, did the exact opposite of searching for the housecarl, and gently pulled one of Keshaara’s arms up over his shoulders and wrapped an arm over . She made a sound of pain as the shift in her arm pulled at the wound on her back, but Lokil knew it was the easiest way to get her there.

 “Ahhn, Lokil, _please_ stop. That h-hurts.”

 He quick-walked her through her house, heading back to the baths, supporting as much of her weight as he could. She was already all but undressed, and when the door to the baths opened, he did not hesitate to pick her up and walk her the last few paces to the nearest bath – the one he had been in earlier.

 When the hot water touched her frostbitten skin, she screamed, freezing up as the pain hit her all over again. Lokil knew that the pain was necessary. Others had dealt with frostbite after the assault on Jotunheim (not him, though, never him), and he had watched as the healers had treated the afflicted areas.

 Keshaara hissed as she tried to breathe through the pain, clenching and unclenching her hands.

 “Th-theres a chest near the alchemy table. The alchemy table is the one with the glass and the burner and the wells carved into it. The chest has all t-the, o-oh-oh _Talos_ , the chest has potions I have made i-ih-in it. There are, _fuck_ , there are ones that are red. Philters, not potions. I need the philters.”

 She screamed again, trying to get all the pain out of her system so she could talk again.

 “The b…nngh, the bottle has a th-thi-ihn, a thin neck and a w-wavy bottom. If the stuff is red, I need it. Bring whatever you can f-ungh-find. Please.”

 Lokil nodded and went to do as she asked. Finding the alchemy table took but a few moments, and the chest next to it was looted for anything that was red, with a thin-neck and “wavy bottoms”. He was almost back to the baths when the front door was smashed open.

 Argis had returned, told by others that Keshaara and Lokil had been seen returning to Vlindrel hall.

 “ _Where is she?!_ ” he demanded, advancing on Lokil with steel drawn. Lokil did not flinch.

 “She’s in the baths. She was injured, I’m trying to get these to her.”

 Argis was furious, but threw his sword to the side and rushed past Lokil to the alchemy room. He emerged moments later, hefting the entire chest of potions in his arms.

 “Move, milk-drinker,” Argis said gruffly, shoving Lokil to the side with a shoulder as he went to tend to his Thane.

 Keshaara screamed again, and both men hurried to her side. Argis threw the chest down near the bath, and hurriedly entered the water with her, still in his full armor. He gently touched the side of Keshaara’s face to get her to look at him.

 “My Thane, what do you need?”

 Argis was not a healer, but he knew how to take orders.

 “She told me to get these from the chest,” Lokil offered, gesturing to the bottles in his arms.

 “He speaks true, my Thane?” Argis asked, and Keshaara could only emphatically nod.

 Lokil knelt at the edge of the bath and offered the bottles in his arms to Argis. He selected the two largest bottles and uncorked them. Gently – with far more tenderness than Lokil thought someone called “Bulwark” could manage, he tipped the liquid in the bottles into Keshaara’s mouth. Argis held the woman carefully, helping her as much he could.

 Slowly, she drank the entirety of the bottle, and Lokil watched in fascination as the wounds sealed themselves again. But it took more than the potions he had in his arms to see Keshaara begin to relax. The damage she had done to herself was horrible, and the level of frostbite she had suffered was enough to mean that there could still be scarring, even with the healing effect these potions seemed to have.

 “There should be a green one – like the red ones in the chest. Get her one of those,” Argis said, still holding a bottle to Keshaara’s lips.

 Lokil fetched that one from the chest as well, and waited patiently for Argis to finish feeding the red potion to Keshaara. Argis reached for the green potion, but was intercepted by Keshaara’s hand.

 “That will be enough, Argis. Thank you.”

 Argis looked to his Thane, who was half-awake, but smiling. Her wounds had all but faded, and those that remained were slowly vanishing as well. Lokil could see the arrow-wound on her back was almost closed as well, and the signs of infection were nearly gone.

 She clapped a hand on Argis’s arm, and smiled at him.

 “Thank you Argis. Lokil escaped through no fault of your own. He is a Master Illusionist from Winterhold, I should have told you before. He is the reason I made it back here alive.”

 The lies came so easily to her, and there was no indication of her duplicity in her words. Lokil was impressed with her. Argis looked to him and nodded, which was probably all he would give the other man as show of appreciation.

 “I am hungry, Argis. Food, if you please?”

 “At once, my Thane. I will escort Lokil out of the room as well?”

 “He may stay. He can tend to me – he did a good job of it in Nchuand-Zel, and I am sure he needs some healing as well.”

 “As you say, my Thane. I will return shortly.”

 Argis walked up out of the bath, drenched in water and splashing it all over the floor to do his Thane’s bidding. Keshaara relaxed in the baths, reaching for the green potion herself.

 “Lokil, tend to me,” she said softly, looking over her shoulder to Lokil, smiling again. He frowned at her choice of words, but approached her, regardless.

 She gestured for him to sit, and he did, choosing the driest spot he could find.

 “Thank you. I will have the Jarl know you helped me before I leave, which should protect you from Ondolemar until I return. I have other business to tend to, and I do not want you endangered while I am gone. Argis should be able to protect you in the case the Thalmor come in force.”

 “Why are you still doing this?” he asked, anger bleeding into his voice as he watched the still-healing, exhausted woman reach for another potion.

 “Because I am Dovahkiin. And you are interesting.”


	7. Faad

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

Keshaara spent most of the evening in the bath, sipping potions as she felt it was necessary. Argis brought her food, and she ate sparingly. Lokil had retreated to a further corner of the baths, watching Keshaara and Argis intently, a frown dancing on his face.

 “My Thane, may I tend to your hair?” Argis asked softly.

 Keshaara nodded, turning her back to Argis. He reached for the table as Keshaara had done earlier. He seemed much more skilled at the tending of hair than Keshaara had been. Argis was tender with his Thane’s hair, undoing the single plait she had used to keep most of her hair out of her eyes. Keshaara had kept her hair down, save for that single plait, and had fastened it with a silver bauble that Argis placed to the side. Slowly, Argis combed her hair out, using a fine gem-encrusted silver comb to slowly work through her hair.

 Unlike Keshaara, who had put her legs into the water and initiated physical contact, Argis was kneeling, subservient to his Thane as he tended to her. He was gentle and never once asked her to dunk her head beneath the water. He had a jug of water next to him, and when he needed to wet her hair, he would gently tilt her head back and rinse the water through her hair so that no water got in her eyes. The same process was repeated for the oil. He brushed her hair carefully, reverently.

 When he was finished and her hair was clean and detangled, he carefully pulled some of her hair back and began re-plaiting it. Keshaara bowed her head and allowed Argis full access and creative liberties with her hair.

 He chose something significantly more complex than her simple original hair style, with multiple plaits blending into one, and decorated with a few simple silver pins. Keshaara was smiling by the end of it, staring down into the water as Argis finished his work.

 “There, my Thane.”

 She reached back to touch the intricate hairstyle her housecarl had given her.

 “You have been practicing, Argis.”

 “…Yes, I have. Does the styling please you?”

 Keshaara laughed, turning to him to put a hand on his knee. Argis blushed straight to the roots of his hair and averted his gaze from her naked chest. 

 “I am honored by such a diligent housecarl. To think, you did not know a plait from a bun but a few weeks ago. Truly, you are a grand man to have in my service.”

 Argis flushed further, somehow, at the compliments, but did not deny her praises. He rose from his position and went to fetch the food he had set to cooking before he had come to tend to her again. Keshaara sighed happily, reaching up to touch her hair. It was masterfully done. It made her feel...pretty.

 She hummed happily, moving through the water as she checked on her body. She could feel the fact that she was healed, but she still wanted to take the time and check every inch of her body, just in case something had gone wrong. She ran her hands down her arms, delighting in how her skin felt whole and hale beneath her hands. She knew the magic that hummed in her, and the power of the alchemy she wrought, but it was still heartening to feel her body _better_ after everything that had happened down in Nchuand-Zel.

 “A-hem,” Lokil said from behind her, catching her attention.

 Keshaara turned, looking up to him, still smiling.

 “Yes, Lokil?”

 “You…are healed?”

 Keshaara stood in the bath, gesturing down at her body. There was no mark on her flesh, no new scar or broken skin. She was whole and hale, and completely naked.

 “I am indeed.”

 Lokil blinked a few times, surprised that she was not flinching away from his gaze on her body. Because he certainly was not going to look away from her. No, she was naked before him and he had to unstick his silver tongue from the roof of his mouth before he could manage any words.

 “What are you doing?” he asked, confused by how she was acting.

All other times she had averted her eyes from him and intentionally hid most of her body from him.

 “Hm? Nothing but enjoying my bath. I will be exiting shortly. Is this a problem?”

 He shook his head. He was not going to _not_ look at her, if that was what she was expecting. There was a mischief dancing in her eyes, and she moved towards the edge of the bath closest to Lokil. She rested her elbows on the edge of the bath, smiling coyly at him. She even extended a hand and curled her fingers back towards herself as a clear come-hither to him.

 He stood from his position and advanced, narrowing his eyes at her. This was very much unlike the Keshaara he had known for the past few days, but he was not going to say no to her. She was an attractive woman, he would give her that much. She was attractive, and naked, and her mouth had tasted like power and ash when he had kissed her. He had liked it.

 Lokil squatted down at the edge of the bath, looking down at Keshaara.

 “What is it you want?”

 She pushed herself up until she was eye-to-eye with Lokil. Her smile was wide and stunning, and directed only at him. Her orange eyes blazed with inner power, and he really could not help the way his heart beat just a little faster.

 “I told you I owed you something, didn’t I? For what happened in Nchuand-Zel…”

 Her smile grew only the slightest bit wider as he leaned further down to her level. A smile was working its way across his face as well. He had kissed her nearly senseless, and she had reciprocated beautifully. If only they had not had to fight, he was certain he could have had her down in that dungeon, up against a wall, or in some shadowed corner...

 “Oh, so you did.”

 “Mmm, and I am a woman of my word,” she purred, leaning up.

She was so close to him that she could feel the cold rolling off his skin. Gooseflesh raced down her arms, and her breath fogged the air between them.

 “Oh, _are_ you?”

 “Yep!”

 Her hands flashed out and grabbed Lokil by his shoulders. She yanked backwards, toppling him into the bath with her. He cursed as the water rushed to him.

 Laughing, Keshaara moved out of his way, closing her eyes against the splash of water. She waited for him to surface and lunge for her, and then deftly dodged and kicked his legs out from underneath him. He fell again, spitting curses like mad, in a motley of languages she did not understand. The game continued, with Keshaara dodging and Lokil never quite fast enough to catch her until she made a miscalculated dodge and Lokil caught her by the arm and pinned her to the side of the bath.

 “You insufferable woman! How _dare_ you-”

 This time she did cut him off with a kiss – one so soft that it barely registered. He let go of her immediately, his hands jumping off of her skin (her body was so  _hot_ ) and his head jerking away from hers. Before he could pull her back to him, crush her body up against his and make her  _scream_ , she was out of his grip and exiting the water.

 “I dare a lot of things. The least of which is kissing an attractive, what was it? Asgardian?” she said with a wink that sent blistering heat through his chest.

 She dried herself off and dressed herself with the same snapping motion that she put her armor on with. Keshaara left the baths, not even bothering to look at the sopping wet Lokil again.

 He could hear her and Argis chatting as she and he began to eat. Lokil pulled himself out of the baths and did his best to dry out his clothing, but there was no denying that they were going to be wet for a good long while. Grumpily, he stormed out of the baths to confront Keshaara, but Argis was the one he saw first. The housecarl was glaring at him, and he couldn’t muster the urge to be polite to Argis in that moment.

 “Oh, Lokil, did you slip? How _unfortunate._ Come, sit by the fire, warm yourself and dry your clothes. Unless you would prefer to change your attire? I believe you left the outfit I loaned you in my bedroom,” Keshaara said ever-so-politely.

 Argis missed the wolfish smile that Keshaara gave Lokil, and the downright sinful way she licked her lips right afterwards. She was outright taunting him now, he _knew_ it. He suppressed a shudder, but nodded.

 “I will go change.”

 “Let me know if you need any assistance, Lokil,” Keshaara purred.

 He ‘harrumphed’, and walked away. He could feel Keshaara’s citrine eyes on him as he left. That woman was something utterly incomprehensible, and it infuriated him that he still wanted to be around her. The way she acted was too similar to how he had acted and there was the whole thing with her being the only real connection he had to getting out of this strange place.

 Keshaara, sitting at the cookfire with Argis, only watched Lokil walk away, smiling privately to herself.

 “My Thane, you are playing a dangerous game with that one,” Argis scolded gently.

 “Oh, I know. But there is not a single game that I play that hasn’t been dangerous. That one, at least, is attractive.”

 Argis smiled.

 “You are a woman of odd and varied tastes, my Thane. Will you be leaving in the morning?”

 Keshaara knew that she should, and that she probably would. It was, after all, the life of the Dovahkiin to constantly be on the move.

 “Yes, I believe I will. More than likely, I will be heading down south to Falkreath to tend to Lakeview. There are some old catacombs that I should tend to as well, and they are not likely to be full of falmer or, Oblivion forbid, vampires.”

 Argis nodded.

 “In your absence, shall I continue my training?”

 He was referring to the special request she had given each of her housecarls. They had had lives and livelihoods outside of serving her, but now that they were in service to her and obligated by honor to defend her, she had set to each of them, a private task. Argis was to learn as much as he could of the Thalmor, the Empire, and to train himself with the guards and guardians of the Reach. He needed to be a beyond-supreme warrior.

 “Please do. I am sorry for my harsh words earlier. I do honor you as my housecarl and I am constantly awed by how diligently you serve me.”

 Argis ducked his head in embarrassment, but Keshaara did not retract her praise. She honestly meant every word, or she would not have said them.

 “Ah, Lokil returns, looking – _finally_ , a proper Nord.”

 The raven-haired man had slunk back into the room, wearing the clothing that had been loaned to him, along with a mighty frown. He cast a dirty look at Keshaara when he thought Argis was not looking, and all she did was smile in return.

 “Sup with us, Lokil. You and I shall be heading to Lakeview Manor – one of my other homes in Skyrim. Hopefully one of the books I have there will tell me more of what I need to know and I can find the proper next step to take to solve the issue you have.”

 Argis knew better than to question his Thane on what she meant, but he was more than passingly curious as to what she could be referring to. This strange man in his Thane’s household, who had snuck out of the house without his noticing and fought alongside his Thane…he was something more than he appeared to be, but again, he knew better than to raise questions.

 Lokil, for his part, watched carefully, eating the food he was offered and finding it surprisingly filling for the food of mortals. He would probably be eating such things for a while – especially if Keshaara insisted upon him possessing guestright.

 “Will we be leaving soon?”

 Keshaara chuckled.

 “If you are so eager, we shall leave when you have eaten. Argis, there is no need for you to stand – I have all of my things in order already.”

 The housecarl sat, twisting his mouth to the side. He only wanted to assist his Thane as best he could. Not that she always needed help, but it was his duty.

 She waved off his worry.

 “I will be fine, Argis. Do not fret over me. What happened today was an unfortunate accident. I would have been safer on my own, but that was not what the Nine had in plan for me. I am hale and whole and shall remain that way for the foreseeable future.”

 That, Lokil could tell, was a lie. He was not sure what part of her statement was a lie, but there were lies hidden in her pretty, assuaging words, and that, too, intrigued him. His damned curiosity was what had doomed him twice, and he knew that being curious about this woman could only lead to bad, bad places.

 But who would he be, if he didn’t at least try and see what the places were?

 Certainly not Loki of Asgard.

 Certainly not.


	8. Dah

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 Keshaara had said goodbye to Argis twice now – once at the door to Vlindrel Hall, once at the door of Markarth, and was working on the third time, at the stables just outside the city. He kept worrying over her attire, the uncleaned state of her armor, the fact that Lokil was going with her and he had again refused anything to wear in terms of armor or armament.

 “Argis, that is enough. Thank you. I will send word when I am able, but as always, the news of what I do should reach everywhere rather quickly.”

 The last part was said with a smile, but Lokil heard the resentment hiding in her words. This was a woman who was offered no privacy, and under the scrutiny of all. She bore the burden well, at least.

 She stood tall, her steel armor in place, and her helmet tucked under her arm. She had re-painted her face, drawing two long bars down her cheeks in deep, dark, ochre. The color only made her eyes look all the brighter, and it was clear she had chosen the color consciously.

 Argis nodded and stepped away.

 “Glory to you, my Thane.”

 “And to you, my housecarl,” Keshaara said softly, clapping Argis on the shoulder.

 “We’ll need horses. Frost is already here?” she said, turning her attention to the stablehand. The man nodded emphatically, and scrambled to get the horse she had requested.

 The huge palomino was brought forward, but when he got close to Lokil, the steed shied, his eyes rolling madly. The stablehand struggled with the great beast, but Keshaara stepped forward. Softly, she reached up to touch the horse’s bridle, and quietly whispered “Kaan”. The beast stilled, calming down immediately.

 She reached backwards to grab Lokil’s hand to place it on the horse.

 “Frost, this is Lokil. Lokil, this is Frost, who traces his lineage back through his grandsire Sleipnir. He is a grand horse and your mount for the moment,” Keshaara said softly.

 Lokil flinched at the name, but Keshaara did not let him pull his hand away.

 “Play nice with him,” was her next command, though it was unclear who she was talking to.

 “What horse will you be riding then, Dovahkiin?” the stablehand asked, hoping, obviously, to sell her a horse.

 “I have another horse. Lokil, walk Frost this way, please. I need to be away from the other beasts for a moment.”

 Keshaara walked backwards, putting distance between her, Frost, and the other horses. She looked to the South, orienting herself as was needed.

 “Shadowmere, to me,” she said into the winds.

 There was a horse’s whinny from the distance, and then the sound of thundering hooves. A black horse, with red eyes and fire caught in its coat galloped straight for Keshaara, only stopping when mere feet from her to rear wildly. The Dovahkiin stood still, waiting for the horse to settle itself. A saddle materialized on its back out of smoke and ash. The bridle that appeared when Keshaara reached up to put a hand on it looked as if it was crafted of still-burning embers. 

Lokil stared.

 The great steed stamped its hooves, but was calm enough for Keshaara to mount him. She gestured for Lokil to mount Frost, and when the man was mounted up, she nodded to Argis one last time and directed Shadowmere to the southeast.

 Lokil followed behind on the pale steed, and the two went on their way. For a long stretch of time, there was nothing but silence between them. Keshaara kept them to the well-worn paths, though it did not seem as if she needed to guide Shadowmere at all. Frost, having accepting Lokil as a rider, was no longer shying or nervous, but Lokil knew that could change very quickly. Horses were capricious beings.

 “Lokil, now that we are away from Markarth and prying eyes, I meant to ask you – what was that trickery in Nchuand-Zel? Your fighting style and magic are clearly from whatever plane of Oblivion your Asgard hail from, but it was unexpected. The armor, especially.”

 Lokil was silent for a moment.

 “It is part of what I am. I am from a place of mighty warriors.”

 Keshaara laughed.

 “Yes, I can see that. Are they all battlemages like you and I, these warriors? Or are they thieves and brigands as well? ”

 “I…what? Battlemage?”

 “Yes! Battlemage. Perhaps your people have a different word for it? Battlemages are people like myself, who wield magic and weapon with equal fervor, and often choose to wear the heaviest of armors. It is a very sought-after group of people, though there is a bit of history which would inform others to not rely too heavily on the battlemages in your hire.”

 “There are more mages?” Lokil said, his voice heavy with curiosity. 

Keshaara looked at him askance, considering her next words very carefully before speaking.

 “Well you won’t see many Nords practicing magery, but magic is all around us. The College of Winterhold is where mages are trained, usually, though there are plenty of people, like me, who merely learned the magic on our own, in travel and exploration. There are mages everywhere.”

 “Are…they usually women?”

 “No, not at all. Is that how it is in your Asgard? How odd. If you have the aptitude and the desire to learn magic, anyone can. It is, of course, harder for those who do not have the money to pay for extra lessons or tomes of study, and certainly harder if you do not have the skills for it, but anyone can learn. Man, woman, Argonian, what have you.”

 Lokil was silent for a while after that, digesting what Keshaara had said.

 “Back h-…back on Asgard, magic is seen as an unmanly way to fight. As trickery and subterfuge. Most people around me would say that it is more honorable to stand and fight with only the power in your arms.”

 “Honorable? The power in my arms is equal parts muscle and magic," Keshaara said, lifting an arm and flexing.

Sunlight glinted off rings worked into her gauntlets, and magic hummed around the armor.

"I would put shame upon those who would discredit magic. There is nothing wrong with magic. It is a part of the fabric of the world, part of every living things. Magic is in the stars and sky, in the sea and ground. It is inescapable, and in the very air we all breathe. Denying magic’s power, decrying its ability, merely because they find it feminine or trickery…these are not smart people to battle with. Battles are not meant to be honorable. Battles are messy. Battles are rough and if they know of magic and have the ability to utilize it, why would they deny it?”

 Keshaara turned in her saddle to look at Lokil. Her eyes were dark with anger, and the battle-paint she had chosen made the expression that much more intense. She had chosen her paint well.

 “Asgard seems by far the stranger place to me, Lokil. But, ah, I can see this is an uncomfortable topic for you. Shall we discuss other things?”

 Lokil blinked in confusion.

 “I suppose we can. What was so curious about the armor?”

“The design, mostly. I do so love the aesthetics of certain pieces of armor, and yours was…intriguing. A blend of magerobe and armor proper, and called to you without any place to store it. I am sure it is nothing more than something from Asgard, again, but it is very interesting to me. The color and the metals chosen, they must have a purpose? I know I would not put anything into armor I made if I did not intend for it to look the way it does, which makes me wonder why you chose the motifs you did – the snake, the wolf, and the…what was it…”

 “The horse. Yes. You are very observant for someone who was poisoned.”

 “I have been poisoned and drugged before, and being observant is why I’m still here and not some thrall.”

 Keshaara smiled as she spoke, but it was an empty expression. She smiled only because it lessened the sting of her own words.

 “I see. The Dovahkiin, then, is not well-loved by all things? Even though you are here to stop the end of the world?”

 “There are some that believe the world must end. That we all must die because it was our destiny. There are some that seek to use me as a weapon…and have tried, and have nearly succeeded. There are others who resent me for assisting those they think that should be left to die. I am the most loved person in Skyrim. I am also the most hated. Invariably, those that love me, will hate me, and those that hate me, will try and destroy me.”

 Keshaara looked as if she was going to say more, turning her head back to Lokil. A queer look passed across her face before she could say anything. She tilted her head up, sniffing the air and the winds that passed them by. Exhaling sharply and inhaling again, this time crinkling her nose and breathing slowly, she tracked a scent back over her shoulder.

 “Speaking of,” she muttered, turning Shadowmere around to face down the path they had come. Lokil turned Frost as well, but could not see anything following behind them.

 “What is it?”

 “Thalmor,” Keshaara said, smelling the air still. “Five of them. One of them smells like a mage. Stay where you are, I will handle this.”

 “How do you know?”

 “You don’t want to talk about the blue skin thing, and I don’t want to talk about my extra abilities either. Just trust me. There are Thalmor on our tail,” she snapped at him. 

 Keshaara’s voice had lost all of its usual brightness, and had turned astonishingly cold. She even shot Lokil a glare over her shoulder to drive the point home. Her lips peeled back over teeth too sharp and too crowded in her mouth. 

 Shadowmere tossed his head and stamped his front hooves. This was a horse meant for battle, and it could sense the rising confrontation. Frost too, was agitated, but did not advance as Shadowmere did. Loki was glad for that. He wanted to watch. 

 The bow on Keshaara’s back flickered, and vanished, to be replaced with a crossbow, with bolts that had deep red and black fletching. This too, seemed to be normal – at least for her.

 Keshaara kept both hands on the reins of her steed, keeping the massive horse in check, waiting for the Thalmor to make their presence known. She heard them approaching, on foot, and forced a smile on her face. These were not Ondolemar’s personal guards, but they were familiar faces around Markarth.

Or at least, they had been.

Markarth was never going to see them again.

 The Justicar was the first to storm up, a spell already wrapped around his hands. They were not going to really give her time to explain herself, were they? Undoubtedly, Ondolemar wanted her dead. The man never learned, though.

 With a simple touch of her heel and toe, Shadowmere was given the command to rear, and the horse rose magnificently on its rear legs, kicking its forelegs out in a display of pure aggression.

 Before the Thalmor could react to her display, she had given Shadowmere the commands to wheel and charge, and the huge horse did so immediately. She pulled her crossbow from its position on her back, a bolt already loaded and as Shadowmere charged, she let the single bolt fly. It hit the Justicar directly in the heart, and no magic could defend against a heart torn in two. She threw her crossbow to the side and pulled her axe free from its sheath at her hip.

 Shadowmere ran the first Thalmor over, stomping him into the dust of the road. Keshaara leapt from her horse’s back, kicking the nearest Thalmor Mer in the chest with both of her booted feet. The Mer fell to the ground, and her axe only swung once, severing all of the vital things in his neck. He had not even had the chance to draw his weapon.

 The others, well they managed to draw their weapon, but one had his head caved in by Shadowmere’s hoof and collapsed, and the other was facing off on his own against the Dovahkiin. He swung his blade wildly, and Keshaara easily evaded. Her axe swung back, and his hand (still holding his blade) went flying from his body.

 Blood poured from the mortal wound, but the man was in shock and did not realize that his death was upon him. He fell to his knees, begging for his life. Keshaara smiled, blood drenched and glorious. She tipped his helm from his head and cradled the side of his face.

 “Mercy… _mercy_ , Dovahkiin. By Talos, _mercy_.”

 Her smile was feral as she leaned down to him. Magic had started to flare around her hand, red and menacing. Lokil watched, transfixed as she sheathed her axe at her hip and leaned dangerously close down over her prey.

 “Mercy for my sons, Thalmor. Mercy for my fathers and mothers. Mercy for my family. I give you the mercy of the Mer.”

 Flames consumed the mer, and Keshaara stood still as he burned. Only when the flames had died, and the charred husk of a man slumped to the ground did she turn away. Shadowmere was at her elbow near instantly, and the Dovahkiin remounted.

 “We should be left alone now, Lokil. This way,” she said gruffly, shoulders tense and brows drawn down. 

 Keshaara rode on, her head held high and proudly. There were long moments of silence between the two of them, where Lokil dared not ask her what she had meant.

 “Why-”

 “If you are going to question my personal life, Lokil, you will have to be more forthcoming about your own. I am not in the habit of sharing my sordid history with someone who can’t decide what color he is, let alone what he _is_.”

 “What do you mean?” Lokil hissed, rearing Frost up short.

 Keshaara turned Shadowmere to face him.

 “As I said. You are bad at lying in my language. The words you chose have nuance that must escape you – in the translation from your native tongue to mine, I can taste the lies you want to hide. You are Loki of Asgard, but not, I think, of Asgard.”

 The look of rage and confusion that flickered on Lokil’s face made her smile cruelly.

 “And lo, I am right. For someone who insists upon being known as a skilled lie-er, the truth seems to fall far easier from your expression than anything else.”

 “How _dare_ you?” he snarled, his normally handsome face transforming into a mask of rage unlike anything she had ever seen.

It should have been terrifying, but to her, burdened by so much else, it was only something else to make her smile.

 “I  am Keshaara, the Dovahkiin. I dare everything. Do you honestly think it matters, though? Lokil of Winterhold? Loki of Asgard? Do you think people here honestly care about what imaginary plane of existence you hail from? Do you? I merely find your lies funny, and I find the fact that you are so injured by a truth that is so far removed from this place all the funnier. Do you think that your titles there are important here? Should I bow to you, oh Prince of Asgard? Should I care of that title you hold when you care so little for mine?”

 Lokil’s armor phased into existence on his body, and a gleaming golden helmet formed around his head. He lifted a hand, wreathed in green magic, prepared to do battle. Keshaara had her crossbow back in her hand, drawn, and a bolt in place before he could cast any spell. The threat was implicit. The distance between the two of them was not enough to block a bolt loosed from the crossbow.

 “Don’t even think of it Lokil. Come, we are not far from my home,” she snapped.

 And with that, and only that, Keshaara led Shadowmere away. All Lokil had was impotent fury. Keshaara had said her piece and he had no words to spit back at her. He was, for perhaps the first time in his life, at a true disadvantage. She was furious, yes, but she carried her fury like a storm, and his fury was only ever a blade in the night. There was no comparison between them. Not yet.

 “You still offer me guestright, after all this. Are you truly that desperate?” he sneered at her back.

 “I am that interested. I am that intent upon helping all those in Skyrim. I am that and much and more than that and you only offer me insult…and here I am inviting you to the house I built of my own accord. If you think you are better off, the road is long and winding, but free for you to travel. I am Dovahkiin and there is nothing more anyone can do to me.”

 Keshaara did not turn her head to speak to Lokil, and it seemed far more that she did not truly care what he did. The armor melted into air, and silently, Lokil followed behind Keshaara. Questions burned his tongue, but he would stay quiet for now. There was time for questions later, it seemed.


	9. Heyv

The Tale of the Dovahkiin

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

The rest of their ride to Lakeview Manor was carried out in silence. Lokil followed behind her, silent and brooding. Keshaara sat stiffly in her saddle, not bothering to look behind her to see if Lokil was still there. She could hear Frost’s hoofbeats behind her. If Lokil dismounted and walked away, she did not particularly care. If he took Frost and rode away, she still did not care. It was his decision, and his alone to make.

 When her house came into view, she cast a single glance over her shoulder, to see a glowering Lokil still riding behind her.

 “The stables are here. I will tend to Frost and handle his tack. After I unlock the front door, feel free to wander through my house as you see fit – unless you come to a closed door. If the door is closed, don’t enter it.”

 Keshaara swung out of Shadowmere’s saddle and led him into the further of the two stalls in her stable. When Lokil dismounted, she took Frost to his stall, rubbed him affectionately on the neck, and turned to her house. The building was designed and built solely by her, and she had worked her ass off to make it home. It was the first house she had built, which was something she was inordinately proud of.

 And now she was letting Lokil inside of it.

 She breathed deeply and walked past him, reaching into her travel pack and pulling out a rough iron key. The large double doors that led into her home were still freshly painted, and delicately carved with traditional Nord designs. She unlocked the door for Lokil, and held it open as he passed by.

 Keshaara followed him inside, walking briskly through her home to her armory. There was a casually dressed mannequin near the open door to the grand room of weapons and armor and she merely touched it with a hand. Her armor jumped to the mannequin, and the clothing jumped onto her. She was dressed far more simply now, in leather pants and a cloth midriff top. Fur accented the neck and waist, to help stave off any cold that stole upon her.

 She still looked regal, and powerful, but she did not look as…rough as she had moments before. The casual clothing had a softening effect on her body. The fact that she was well muscled, fit and battle-ready could not be denied, but armor left little imaginings as to how one could look underneath it. Keshaara even seemed to have relaxed, now that she was out of her armor. The tenseness that had dogged her eyes, and had tightened the muscles in her neck and shoulders was gone.

 This was, after all, her home. There were no men above her here. There was no Jarl, no Thanes, no housecarl. There was only her.

 She turned to look at Lokil, who was staring quite intently at her. She met his gaze unflinchingly, not shying away from the intensity in his gaze. 

 “Welcome to Lakeview Manor, Lokil. Excuse me, I must tend to the horses, and then to dinner for us.”

 Keshaara brushed past him again, twisting her body so that they did not touch, merely came close. He reached out to her, his fingers brushing the bared skin of her forearm. Her skin was _hot_ against his, and he wrapped his fingers around her arm. He pulled on her ever so slightly, trying to urge her closer, and he had no idea why. 

The look she shot him was inscrutable and he realized that he had pulled her flush to him and was staring her down, far far far into her own personal space. He struggled for something to say because he knew he needed to say something, anything at all to justify what he had done.

 “I will help you with the horses,” he offered quickly.

 She extricated her arm from his touch, but she did not forbid him from following her back out.

 “It is a beautiful house, Keshaara. You built it yourself?” Lokil asked, looking over the ornate carvings of the door. 

 “Mhm,” was all the response she was willing to give him.

 She tended first to Shadowmere, the great beast of a horse born of smoke and shadows and mists. His tack was removed gently and with precision, then stacked neatly, to be moved to its proper place later. She went to work brushing her steed down. Lokil, left to his own devices, and with Frost, went about his own tasks. It had been a long while since he had had to tend to any horse of his own, but he remembered enough of the tasks to do so.

 Keshaara watched him out of the corner of her eye, careful to make sure that Lokil did not harm her horse. But the man showed surprising care for the horse, muttering words in the language of his homeland, and rubbing him down with the same care she was showing Shadowmere. That did bring the slightest of smiles to her face, and she felt far more comfortable with leaving him to his own tasks.

 “You said Frost’s grandsire was a steed called Sleipnir, yes?”

 “Yes.”

 “Did…was there any meaning to that name?”

 Keshaara’s brows furrowed in confusion.

 “I’m sure there would be, but that…is not information I have. I could look back over the lineage papers I stole when I stole the horse, but I would rather not break into the Black-Briar’s house again. Why do you ask?”

 Lokil shrugged at her.

 “It’s…I know of a horse called Sleipnir as well. From my home. He is the mightiest of steeds, the fastest of all horses, and he…well, he is famous.”

 “That is odd…that seems like it is oddly the same. Though Sleipnir was just a horse, and I have a feeling that your Sleipnir is something more than just a horse. Rather like you are something more than you appear.”

 Lokil said nothing in response, but did not shake his head or indicate any other denial of what was said. He actually smiled the smallest bit, a grin tugging at his lips.

 “I suppose I am.”

 Keshaara paused, looking at Lokil carefully.

 “You should smile like that more often, Lokil. When you stop being so consumed with yourself, your smile is quite becoming.”

 It was a casual comment, and not one Keshaara elaborated on, but for some reason, it nearly made Lokil flush. She was not trying to get anything or do anything, and gave a well-meant compliment freely. He doubted she even noticed the effect the compliment had on him, as she was still busy rubbing her steed down.

 Shadowmere’s dichromic coat was shining black and crimson, and the ferocious beast was nuzzling her hair affectionately.

 The Dovahkiin smiled at the horse, truly and openly, and Lokil thought in that moment, that her comment applied to her as much as it, perhaps, did to him. Wind tousled her hair,and still smiling, Keshaara let her hair tangle with Shadowmere’s mane. She was nothing more than a young woman.

 She _was_ a young woman. Younger than him by far, but…young.

 “Keshaara, if it is not too much to ask – how old are you?”

 She made a face, and considered his question. Her eyes drifted upwards and she counted off something under her breath. 

 “I am, to my recollection, twenty three springs old. I believe, at least. I am not entirely sure. Somewhere around twenty three years old, I guess.”

 She shrugged, not really interested in the question. It was an unusual one, but not one of much importance.

 “You are young, then. Very young, from what I can tell of the ages of those around you.”

 “Markarth and the Reach are full of old people. It is not a place given towards new life, but the stagnation of old. _Princes_ , they insist upon living in the skeleton of a civilization long gone. They insist upon the old way, and kowtow to the new. There are young people abounding. But if they’re smart, they’re not in Skyrim. No one wants to be conscripted into a war.”

 “Princes?”

 Keshaara laughed and rested her forehead on Shadowmere’s flank. She grinned at him askance, her eyes sparkling with some sort of pleasant emotion. 

 “We should sit while we talk of the Princes. The Daedra and Aedra are capricious things and I have no need to speak ill of them in the open air.”

 Lokil gave her an odd half-smile, but followed behind her, rubbing Frost one last time and following her.

 “As you say. Though I am growing ever more curious as to how your people seem to echo the people who once worshipped mine.”

 Keshaara snorted.

 “You must tell me that story first. You are, first Loki of Asgard, and now, Lokil of Winterhold, but you would have me believe that you were worshipped? Oh, by the Nine, if I have insulted a deity from a realm far gone I shall never forgive myself.”

 Her words were tinted with laughter and as she opened the door to her home again. Lokil again walked into her home, this time following. She led him to the large center table that dominated the lower floor, and gestured for him to sit. He made himself comfortable in one of her chairs. Keshaara went about preparing food, motioning for Lokil to start his story.

 “We are not Gods. Well, they are not…we aren’t Gods. We come from a realm where there are nine interconnected places. There is the place where the humans…where people like you, but less hardy, lived, and we called that Midgard. They lived in Asgard, which was referred to as the realm of the Gods. We just were stronger than they were. We influenced them in mo small way, but they…and you, you are similar.”

 Keshaara was quiet for a moment, considering her next statement carefully. She busied herself with stirring the stew pot, her mouth working from side to side as she weighed the consequences of her words.

 “And where, then, did you come from? If not from Asgard?”

 Lokil frowned and looked at her.

 “You said ‘they’ that once. And not ‘we’. Which means you are not the same. Which means that blue skin of yours…and the cold…they both must be things that are not common.”

 She had started filling bowls with stew, and spoke softly, not wanting to irritate him again.

 “So I did. I am not like them. I was told I was, and it was the cruelest lie. Not even I…not even I told a lie so mean tempered.”

 “The cold, then…and the skin with the ritual scarring? That is not normal for your people? I thought it would have been normal.”

 She handed a bowl to Lokil, who took it hesitantly.

 “You said it looked like a Daedra. Daedra, to my understanding, are not good things.”

 Keshaara smirked.

 “Daedra means “not our ancestor”. It is rather commonly understood that the Daedra are forces of change and chaos, and as most of us do not enjoy being tossed about at the whim of a Daedra, they are seen as bad. But I’ve dealt with so many of the Daedra that it does not bother me. Unless, of course, you mean me ill.”

 She sat beside Lokil, nudging his elbow with her own.

 “And I don’t think you do mean to hurt me. Do you?”

 Lokil shook his head, but looked down to his stew.

 “No. I don’t…I do not mean to cause you harm. I may harm you anyway. It is part of my nature. I enjoy being who I am. I do. I _do_.”

 “Lokil, you sound as convinced to that as I do when I say it. Just know that here, no one cares what happened there. You are here now, and you are not a Daedra. That is good enough for all but the mages of Winterhold, and certainly good enough for me. Now eat. You look terribly thin.”

 Lokil did not know what to say to the woman, who seemed to burn hot in her emotions in one moment, and then cool in the next. She was as unpredictable as the meteorfalls over the Bifrost, and she seemed so comfortably uncomfortable with herself that it unnerved him. She ate next to him, relaxed and at ease, even though not a full day ago, she was struggling to stand, ravaged by frostbite and exhaustion. She ate next to him, calm and composed, even though he had seen the rage that crawled in her skin, the same rage that itched under his.

 It made him angry.

 It intrigued him.

 But he ate, watching her out of the corner of his eye, as he was certain she was doing in return. The stew was filling, and as far as food went, it was decently tasteful. He dug in, and Keshaara never let how bowl truly empty. Her implication was clear. He was not going to be able to leave without eating fully. So he ate as much as he was able, until she was scraping the bottom of her pot to fill his bowl once again.

 “I will start another pot as soon as I gather the ingredients.”

 Lokil smiled at her.

 “Take your time. I can eat quite a lot.”

 “And as your host, I should see that you have your fill. I am not unaccustomed to feeding those who are of…interesting tastes.”

 Keshaara grinned as she spoke, as if she was remembering a half-remembered joke. She shook her head and walked towards her food storage. She was nearly there when there was a loud, insistent knock on her door. Puzzled, Keshaara turned her head towards the door, one eyebrow raised.

 “Stay there, Lokil. I’ll see who our guest is.”

 Lokil was really not a person to listen to orders, and he was curious, so as Keshaara walked to the door, he did too, following behind her. She cast him a quick glance over her shoulder, but shrugged. If he wanted to follow, she was not going to outright forbid him from doing so.

 The knocking at her door grew more insistent, and Keshaara, ever practical, checked for her dagger in the back of her belt as she approached the door. Lokil watched as she sniffed the air, and decided that there was nothing amiss with their visitor.

 She opened the door, peeking out at the visitor. All she saw was a hood and the flash of red-orange eyes, but it was enough to warn her.

 Too many things happened at once.

 Keshaara reached backwards for the dagger in her belt, trying to free it in time to defend herself, the visitor swept their hood back and lunged, a red light dancing from their hands to consume Keshaara, and Lokil drew his magic around him. Keshaara and the attacker fell to ground, and while her dagger struck true – deep into the gut of the thing on top of her, she and the thing screamed in tandem. The attacker managed a single, clear word – “Harkon” before their voice was raised in a almighty screech of pain.

 The attacker’s scream tapered off and died, and they went limp atop of Keshaara. She pushed the body off of her and struggled to sit up. The dagger was discarded so she could press a hand to her gored throat. The attacker had bitten her, deeply. Keshaara kicked the door closed with enough force to shake dust from the wood, and stood. She looked to Lokil, her rage burning in her eyes again. Only now, he could see red bleeding into her irises.

 Blood was pouring over her hand, but he could still see the skin beneath her hand slowly knitting itself back together. Golden light flickered around her fingers. He watched her, entranced. Her strength was astounding.

 “Lokil…” she started, her voice understandably rough. Blood stained her teeth. Her tongue chased the blood. “Lokil, please.”

 He approached her, a hand extended hesitantly. He did not know what was going on, but Keshaara needed help. She needed help and he wanted to help her. An uncharacteristic need uncurled in his chest. He wanted to be next to her. Pressed up against her. Naked, preferably. Bleeding, maybe, it did not matter, the need was overwhelming. He staggered towards her, stumbling on his feet unsteadily. He just needed her.

 She shook her head and recoiled from him, backing up until she was pressed flat to the door again. Oh he could press her to the door. Make her press her lips to his. His throat. Oh, her mouth was shaped beautifully for the hollow of his neck.

 “Lokil. _Run_.”


	10. Sos

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

“Keshaara?”

 “Lokil, please _run_.”

 He came closer to her again, and she shuddered. Her mouth dropped open, and he took it as an invitation to come closer, regardless of her intention.

 “Why?”

 “That was a vampire and it bit me. Please. I will be okay and I’m not going to turn, but I will be symptomatic of the sanguinarian virus and it gets worse every time I get infected. Please. Just back away.”

 He still did not do as she asked. He intentionally crowded her space, pressing, his curiosity piqued by how intense her reaction was. The term ‘vampire’ was barely familiar to him, but anything relating to vampires was still not something he knew enough about to not be curious. Her mouth was... _enchanting_.

 “Lo _kil_ , stop.”

 Her breath caught in her throat as he pushed himself even closer to her. He pressed his thighs against hers, sinuously coming closer, rolling his body against hers. She rocked her head back until it hit the door behind her. He peeled her hand away from her throat to better inspect the wound. It was nearly closed already, but he could still see the outline of teeth and the blood that still pulsed out of her neck in slow, steady beats. There was a massive, dark bruise underneath the skin.

 “Loki, _Loki_ , please…stop,” she begged. And goodness did she beg pretty.

 Finally, he drew away, and Keshaara slumped against the door, shaking and clutching her neck again. It was the only thing she could think to do with her hands.

 “Wash your hands off - you smell like blood.”

 “Is that bad?” he purred, not backing completely out of the entryroom.

 “Define ‘bad’,” Keshaara hissed, covering her mouth with her other hand.

If she could just make him go away, she could sit here and wait for the symptoms to be consumed by her resistance to disease, and then it would be fine. She would not have the hunger and she could finally relax.

 Lokil just needed to take his bloodied hands away. Yes, it was her blood, but it was still blood on someone else and it was taunting her.

 She curled up into a small ball, pressing herself into the wall and trying to focus on anything, _anything_ but the smell of blood. Her eyes were closed tightly as she tried to force the sensation of the rest of the world out. She heard Lokil walk away, retreating further into the house and she could relax. Just the slightest bit, but she could relax.

 The infection from the bite would be handled by the next sun’s rise, she knew. It had just been so long since she had had to deal with someone else being nearby while she worked through the symptoms. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes, and was pleased to see that Lokil was well and truly away from her. The body in her front room would just have to be handled later.

 She struggled to get to her feet, trying to beat back the symptoms (her body knew she had not drank blood, her body knew the last time it had been infected, her body remembered what it was like to be what she had been, her body knew and she knew and the memories were horrible) by the sheer force of will. It was like a skooma addiction, but a thousand times worse. Skooma just gave you the shakes, it made you irritable and antsy as you waited for your next hit – she had doubled up her addictions at one point, and skooma had helped her mask the need, the _need_ for blood. 

 But the skooma was a desire, and blood had been a need. Her knees went out from underneath her and she clutched the lintel of the door she was passing through to keep herself from falling to the floor.

 Lokil’s smell dogged her house and the unfamiliarness of the scent was making her teeth itch again. At Vlindrel Hall, it was different – Markarth’s smell and the smell of Argis and the smells of everything and everyone around had been enough to dull her senses. Lakeview Manor was so much different. The air was clean, and she lived alone when she lived here…and with Lokil around, she could practically see his scent hanging in the air and all her mind could summon was how he could taste.

 How he _would_ taste. 

 She shook her head, and got her legs back underneath her. She just had to get upstairs. Upstairs and to her room, where she could lock the door and stay huddled in the corner until the sun came up and she was safe again.

 The stairs were a bit difficult, but she managed with only a few falls, and upstairs never looked so fine. Only a littlest bit further to her room and then she would be safe. She would not have to worry about bloodlust or bloodneed or bloodwant or any bloody thing. She would just have to curl up and sleep the night away.

 The relief that flooded her as she assured herself that Lokil was not upstairs and that she would be okay deadened her senses for just one moment. She rushed to the door of her room, a manic smile on her face and her hands trembling. The shaking and the need and the urge were getting stronger so if she could just get to her room, it would be alright. Get to the room, lock the door. Get there, lock the door, don't think about Lokil, not even a little bit.

 She ran full-force into an invisible presence in her way, and all at once there was the rush of smell again. Intoxicating smell, new smell, the smell of frost and cold and bitter fury. It was Lokil. He had hidden himself, which she supposed was one way of running but it was not helpful right at this moment. Because he was there now.

He flickered into existence underneath her, smiling cockily at her. Her legs had fallen on either side of his hips and his hands came up to her waist. She wanted to taste that smile on her lips and the sudden rush of desire that flushed through her made her wary. Especially because his pupils were blown wide and he licked his teeth. Keshaara scrambled to get off of him, suddenly assaulted by all the smells and the nearness and she could _hear_ his pulse beneath his skin, slow and steady and calm despite all that had happened.

The tangle of limbs was difficult to extricate herself from, but she managed, and as fast as she could she scrambled to the nearest door and ducked into the room behind it. She slammed the door behind her and pressed her back to it. Her hands were shaking and she could feel her heart pounding. Her neck ached and her teeth itched like crazy and she could hear Lokil on the other side, snickering to himself. By the _Nine_ she wanted -

This was _funny_ to him?! Whatever concern he had possessed for her dilemma had faded. Maybe he thought he was indestructible? That the puny Dovahkiin could not harm him? He was, after all, worshipped as a “god” back wherever he was from. What would he have to fear from something like her?

Her rage overcame her fear of what she was capable of, and she turned and threw the door open again.

Lokil, for once, looked shocked when she confronted him again. Her eyes were orange with a film of red over her iris and sclera, and when she bared her teeth he could see that her canines had lengthened far beyond what they had been. She looked feral and wild and, most of all, _angry_. Oh, and his traitorous body adored it. He ached for her.

 She lunged at him, a huge burst of motion that got her nowhere.

Keshaara barreled through the illusion Lokil had built of himself, and when she realized that there was no impact and that she was about to hit the floor, she tucked her shoulder down and rolled. She rose to her feet faster than she usually moved, fueled by a near-blinding bloodlust. She came up to her feet eerily fast, looking around for her prey.

 Keshaara snarled, breathing deeply in through her nose again so she could find where Lokil was and _hurt_ him. Feed from him. Her fury washed everything else from her. She was a creature of fury and bloodlust and all she wanted was to make him _hurt_.

 To her senses his position hidden in the shadows was lit up as clear as day. She rushed him, grabbing for the collar of his shirt. She felt her hand slide across the leather and armor he had cloaked himself in as she pulled him close, and it certainly did not bother her now. His body pressed to hers. He groaned, moaned really, his body reacting so favorably to the heavy press of her body against his. 

 It was instinct that drove her to throw him against the wall, to ignore the sudden outcry from the man, and the babbled words and phrases that would have made her stop had she been anything but consumed by her fury. His hands scrabbled across her skin, gripping her hard enough to bruise, pulling on her flesh, trying to get her closer. Further? Closer.

Her own hands were occupied. One had Lokil by the throat, pinning him to the wall with all of her strength. Her other grabbed the collar of his fine armor, her fingers curling around the edge of the fabric and _pulled_ , exposing the pale neck and collarbone of the man who had gotten her so worked up. Her tongue pressed to his skin, and she tasted the promise of magic and blood in his veins.

 He was pushing at her, no longer finding this sudden change amusing. He was actually concerned that something was actually wrong, and worried above all else, about what she was going to do. Even as far as his body ached for her, and oh did it ever ache. His cock was hard and heavy in his trousers and the danger did not make it any less alluring. He didn't know why his body ached for her, or why his mind was spinning with images of her teeth in his neck, and his body writhing against hers.

 “Keshaara, Keshaara! Stop, n-”

 The words he had been saying had not mattered to her anyway and she lunged. She pulled his shoulder away from the wall to give herself some space, and her teeth finally, **finally** found what they needed to stop itching.

The sound of shock and pain that Lokil made as her teeth broke his flesh thrilled the deepest part of her.

 Blood rushed into her mouth and her moan of pleasure was drowned out by Lokil screaming obscenities in his native tongue. She did not care. All that mattered was the blood on her tongue and how it tasted. His blood tasted like…Divines, he tasted like nothing she had ever had before. It only made her want to drink more of it. Her craving had found a toehold and even though her body would remove all traces of vampirism from her by sun’s rise, right now, she was its thrall.

 She pulled harder at his armor, and her strength was enough to rip the seams of the stitched leather, and pull metal from its bindings. She bit harder as he struggled, drinking more and more of his blood. He struggled, and his hips ground against hers, chasing friction with his movement. He did not want her teeth in his neck, he wanted her body against his, he wanted her beneath him, on top of him. 

Every mouthful of his blood made her feel better. Stronger. Inhumanly strong - not that she had been human in a long while, but it was still a different strength that burned in her blood.

 The cold in his blood nestled in her chest, but she was too far gone to really care. All she wanted was more. More blood. More, more, more, more, _more._

 She still had a hand on his throat, and her grip was slowly waning as she drank her fill of his blood. The hunger that burned in her was not easily slaked, and she could hear his pulse slowing. She knew, as all vampires did, that she should not kill her host, not immediately, at least. He moaned, his head lolling away from her, offering his throat to her. 

 So, slowly, Keshaara withdrew her teeth from his flesh. Blood dripped down his neck and shoulder, painting the pale skin red, but that wound would heal soon. As she watched it the puncture wounds were fading. She licked at his neck repetitively, cleaning the wound, and cleaning the skin that had been covered in his blood. He did not move while she cleaned the wound, though she could hear his heart’s beating returning to normal from its previously frantic pace. Her hand was withdrawn from his neck when she was done, and Lokil slumped against the wall, his strength fading from him.

 Keshaara licked her teeth, her lips, and her hands, trying to make sure she had as much of Lokil’s blood cleaned off of her. Her eyes were closed in pleasure and she was humming to herself. She did not need to see to know where his blood was on her skin. She could feel it and it was all she wanted, still. It was so much better than anything she had ever tasted before.

 Only when she heard Lokil’s stunned and horrified gasp, did she bother opening her eyes. He was collapsed on her floor, his armor torn to the side, and one of his hands pressed to the closing wound on his neck. But his gaze was centered wholly on her, and there was lust and horror in his eyes.

 Keshaara looked to her hands, and then she saw what had horrified Lokil.

 Her skin was blue, and traced over with scars she had never seen on her body before. Gently, she touched her fingers together, seeing if she could feel any sort of magic in the coloration. There was none. She must have had a reaction to his blood, because she looked as she had seen him to be. She had had similar reactions to drinking too much blood before, from watching as Khajiit marking-patterns trace themselves into her skin, or Argonian scale-marks…so it did not bother her.

 Lokil, on the other hand, looked shocked. Terrified, even. That only made Keshaara smile, and she knelt in front of him. He recoiled weakly from her, still probably dazed from losing so much of his blood so quickly. Keshaara did not mind. She was faster than him in this state, and ever so gently, she leaned forward to gently brush his hand away from the wound on his neck. It was all but healed, in comparison to the dark blood that still lingered on her own neck, layered over a deep purple bruise. She licked him again.

 He shivered when she touched her, and when her fingers made contact with his skin, there was a reaction. The deep blue color of what she assumed to be his real skin blossomed at her touch, roused from hiding and spreading like wildfire across his body. He hissed at her, angry with the contact, and she silenced him with a kiss of blue skin to blue skin. His skin did not feel so cold anymore, and perhaps most surprising, after a moment of hesitation, and a half-hearted whispered “… _oh_ …” against her lips, he relented.

 Lokil relaxed, sagging into her touch, and returning the kiss. It was gentle at first, hesitant and unsure, but when Keshaara did not pull away, and he could feel her cold touches mirroring his, he kissed her fully, all at once wrapping his arms around her and pulling her flush against his body. The bloodloss, the changed appearance of the only person he could really rely on here in Skyrim, and sudden tenderness had broken some deep part of him. He kissed her with fervor and intention. 

He wanted. Oh, Norns, he wanted. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted. Yes, entirely, he wanted. He ached. He wanted.

 Keshaara waited for a single moment when they pulled apart just slightly to breathe, and reached for the waning power within her. Gently, she pushed out with her mind, urging his mind and body to fall into a deep sleep. Lokil’s red, red eyes fluttered, and closed as he fell into the deep sleep she had put upon him.

 She kissed him as she fell asleep, and when she was certain of his slumber, she stood. The sun’s rise was still a few hours from her, but she now had blood in her stomach and everything that had been loud and lustful in her mind was quieted.

 She was Dovahkiin, and she had much to do.


	11. Brynja

( ~~The Tale of the Dragonborn~~ )

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

When Loki woke, he was not where he last remembered being – pinned beneath a Jotun Dovahkiin named Keshaara, kissing her like she was all that there was in the world. He was, however, dressed neatly in clothes that were not his, lying in a bed he did not remember.

He tried to sit up, and did so slowly, trying to make sure he did not inadvertently hurt himself. His entire left arm ached, and he had a feeling it was from Keshaara’s savage bite.

 He pressed his right hand to his neck, wincing as the bruise made itself known with a painful ache. He peeled the blankets off of him, but it did not seem like there was anything else wrong. The air was still and cold, and there was only silence that greeted his ears. Keshaara was nowhere he could see, but then again, he was clearly in a bedroom of some sort, and he doubted she would be in the room with him again. Not for a while, at least. 

 Loki slowly opened the door, expecting to see Keshaara seated at the base of the door as she had been in Vlindrel Hall. There was no one there.

There was, however, a well-prepared meal, still steaming hot, on an ornate tray. He picked up the tray, picking at the food as he walked through the house. It was still silent, and apparently, empty. Carefully, he walked downstairs, noting the corner where Keshaara had held him against the wall and sucked his blood down.

There was blood smeared there, and he remembered the feeling of her teeth in his neck. Her lips on his. Her body rocking up against his, the way he had gotten worked up, the way everything in him had wanted her. Only her.

The memory…the memory made him feel dizzy. He couldn’t think about it, not yet. He shook his head, trying to get the thoughts to leave.

 He peeked down the main hall of the manor, and still, there was no one. There were plates of cold food, untouched, on the table. Perhaps he had been asleep for longer than he had thought. Silence still reined in the house, and he saw no sign of Keshaara, except for the food.

Momentarily having absolute free reign of the house, he explored a little bit, peering into the armory he had only had a moment to appreciate before.

 The armor Keshaara had always worn was still on its mannequin, but all around the room…oh, Thor and the Warriors three would absolutely die to see such a room.

There were armors on posed mannequins that were unlike anything that he had ever seen. Even Heimdall’s, Odin’s armor could not match the armor that were on display here. There were cloaks and pauldrons and so much else, and it was all stunningly crafted. Even he, not a warrior as true as his fostered family, could appreciate the hand that crafted all of this.

 Next, his eyes were drawn to the displayed weapons. Everything from hand-axes like what Keshaara clearly favored, to large double-handed broadswords and all things in between. These too, where expertly crafted, and the closer he examined everything in the room, the more intricate details he saw edging into the designs. There were similar motifs etched, carved, burned, and stitched in to all of the armor and weaponry.

 It was honestly breathtaking, and that was coming from him – someone who was not usually given over to mooning over weapons.

 He resisted the urge to touch, merely appreciated the many hours some craftsman had put into all of the things in this room. Keshaara certainly had quite the collection, and he wondered how she had gathered all the money necessary to purchase such grand armor, when it seemed most people did not bother to pay her for her services at all.

 And his next thought was why Keshaara bothered with her steel armor at all, when she had all of this other armor that looked like it was so much finer that what she was already wearing. Not only finer, but some of the more violent-looking armors appeared to be more sturdy, more capable of taking a hit than the steel did. There were some leather and cloth armors even, accentuated with the barest minimum of armor and even those looked far greater than the simple steel she wore.

 The weapons were a different story.

Keshaara favored her axe, and looking at the other axes in the room, none compared to the glimmering axe that Keshaara usually had at her waist. She at least chose her weapons well.

 Loki spent a while in the armory, looking over each piece individually, before stepping back to take a look at how they were presented as a whole. This was a woman who prided herself on these possessions, and he wanted to understand why.

No new information came to him, however, and eventually he grew tired of standing in the presence of cold armor and steel. As he exited, though, he noticed something – there was a space where a mannequin could have been, but there was none.

Looking at the place closely, he finally came to the conclusion that there had been, until rather recently, a mannequin there. Where it could have gone though, he had no idea.

 Considering this new conundrum, he exited the armory. There were other rooms to explore. At the rear of the house, he noted a closed door. From what he had seen of her house, he figured this must lead up to the tower he had seen jutting up from the far end of the house from the stables. Silently, he opened the door, and inside the hidden room…he saw nothing of particular import.

The room smelled like magic, which he assumed was courtesy of the odd, glowing table off to the side of the circular room, but there was no other reason he could see for the door being closed.

 Perhaps she had just not wanted him snooping around his house?

 Well that was just not in his nature to obey, and since Keshaara did not seem to be around to scold him, regardless, he ventured up the ladder he saw, climbing up and up and up, until he had to push the trapdoor at the top of the ladder open.

 The cold morning air of Skyrim greeted him with a slap of harsh wind across his face. Had he been of lesser constitution that slap of wind would have been enough to convince him to go no further. But he was Loki, of Asgard, and the cold did not bother him, anyway.

 The top of the tower had a small balcony, and to his shock, Keshaara was still nowhere to be seen. He had been nearly certain that she would have been out there. No one greeted him, with a screech or scream. For a few moments, the view was all that he could take in. All of Skyrim was presented before him, and the view was breathtaking.

This was Skyrim, her home. Wilderness, rocks, and in the distances, plumes of smoke from other houses, or towns. No great glittering cities, no grand balconies and palaces. This was it. This was all there was.

 The silence, however, was broken by the melodious ring of hammer on metal.

 He turned her head towards the sound, surprised to see Keshaara standing to the side of the house, working on something. She did not seem as if she had noticed him, and he rather liked it that way. He could watch her and get his mind in order. What he could see of her skin was pale and flawless, as it had been when she had first met him. Or at least, from his view, it was just that. But he could not see all of her. Only her back.

 She was wearing the same pair of pants as she had been before, but her top had been disregarded entirely, in favor of a simple modesty band around her breasts. The muscles in her back stood out in stark relief as she lifted the hammer high and drove it down again. She was, in the light of dawn as she worked on some metallurgical process or another, nearly stunning.

 He watched her for a long few moments, observing the play of her muscles and her absolute concentration as she worked.

 Slowly, he crept back down the ladder, knowing that she had not seen him. He walked through her house, back out the front door. Loki noticed as he walked out into the open air of Skyrim, that the body was gone. The floor had been cleaned, even. Perhaps he had been sleeping for longer than expected.

 Loki walked to the side of the house where he had seen Keshaara working. He had to pass by a table on the way to greet her, and what he saw there made him freeze for a few moments.

 Lying on the table, under a bronze hand mirror, were reams of paper, each bearing an incredibly detailed sketch of a blue-skinned woman he could readily identify as Keshaara. He had to assume they were all drawn by her own hand, and the absolute intricacy she had put into each drawing shocked him. He had not figured her for an artist, let alone one of such skill.

 Her face was the feature of at least five of the drawings that he went through, each drawn to exacting detail, showing the coloration of her skin, the ridges of the scars, and every defining marker of what had been the most shocking of things to see. He remembered looking upon a Jotun where there should be none, and feeling everything in his heart break all at once. Loki had been repulsed by her. Entranced by her. Both at the same time, in a dizzying rush of emotion that still dragged at him. 

 He had only seen those of his same race twice, once as he fought them as an Aesir, and once, when he betrayed them as a Jotun. But the face he saw staring back at him was…stunning. Keshaara was such a beautiful Jotun woman. Had he ever loved himself as who he really was, he would have, could have, loved her as she had been as well.

 But instead, he focused on the intricacy she had put into her design. The image Keshaara had drawn of herself was to a precise accuracy he had never seen in artistry outside of the royal artists Odin and Frigga employed. It almost as if her image could leap off the page and touch him again.

He almost wanted it to.

Loki flipped through further pages, ignoring Keshaara as she worked, his throat tightening as he came across drawings that had clearly been meant for her eyes alone: images where she was completely topless, and her artistic eye had been drawn solely to the markings that traced across her body, images where she was focusing only on how her body was different from normal, how the blue color made her body look so much different than it did when she was her natural-born color. 

She had an eye for the angles that made her look the most alluring, even when only drawn on paper.

 There were so many different angles that Lokil had to think at he had been asleep for a long time. These intricate drawings would have taken her a long time to do, and there was a whole stack of them. Still, he could not help but marvel at how delightfully in-depth the sketches were.

 The hammer’s fall had faded, and he turned to look to where Keshaara had been working. She had stopped, staring at him with her brows furrowed. Patches of blue still mottled her otherwise pale skin, and he could not…he could not help how he stared at her.

He could see the mirroring of his own markings (the markings he did not want to admit were just beneath the glamour he wore, the markings that he knew were there and that he had never found beautiful until he had seen them on a woman like her and realized how neatly they outlined every single flawless part of her) on her flesh, but she would not meet his gaze.

 One of her eyes was clear and the same golden orange it had always been, while the other was a deep, dark, crimson red. Around that crimson eye was skin as blue as his was, but as he watched her, he could see the blue fading. Slowly, but it was fading.

 “Keshaara. You look…well.”

 She did not meet his eyes, and meekly, shockingly meekly, turned away from him to continue working on whatever project she had started while he was asleep. The mannequin that he had guessed to be missing was sitting in the shade of the house, nearly entirely dressed. It looked decidedly masculine as compared to her other armor, and, the more he looked at it, the more he came to realize that it was truly intended for him. There was no other way to explain the colors, and the reason for it looking so male-oriented.

 “Keshaara, is that…for me?”

 She turned her head away, but nodded slowly, some sort of shame burning her cheeks. She still worked at whatever piece of metal she was crafting, and Loki just stared at her. Something…something was amiss.

 “I saw the drawings.”

 She flinched, turning her head away from him. He could see the play of color on her skin all the better as she did so, and the seamless transition from the pale skin of a Nord to the blue skin of a Jotun was exposed again. Patchy and broken, and wholly, wholly, entrancing. How the blue of the Jotun skin looked better on her than on him, he could not understand.

 “I am sorry. I thought…I recorded it for my own safekeeping, so that I could know a little bit better what else was out in the world, outside of Nirn. It is for my own edification. I will not be sharing it with anyone else.”

 Her lips were still blue, and the color spread from beneath her nose to her chin. The delicate lines of scarring traced both above and below her mouth, and he could not help but stare at her. Somehow, seeing it on someone else made it all the more palatable to know it was on him. Keshaara turned away from him again, frowning at her own words.

 “If you prefer, I can burn them. I just…I like to record the things that happen to me, so that if something happens, people can look back on what I saw and maybe learn something from it.”

 Loki looked to the table, where all the drawings were stacked neatly. He still wanted to leaf through them – to see Keshaara as she saw herself in the mirror, even when her pencil drew lies. Not once since the revelation near the Cask of Winters had he viewed himself as beautiful, like he once had, but seeing Keshaara and how she viewed herself, even when still tainted by the touch of his birthrite, somehow…somehow made it easier.

 “No, no, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Keshaara still did not look at him. The metal in the tongs in her hands was glowing red, and sweat shone on her mottled skin. She was silent, and for the moment, so was he. He wanted to go back and look through her drawings. Even the roughest of sketches managed to capture some intricate truth about how she saw herself, and those truths were just as important to him as his own lies.

 “I…I am sorry, Lokil.”


	12. Bahlok

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 Keshaara would not sleep while Lokil did. After his eyes closed and his body succumbed to her suggestion, she had stood. But only for a few moments, because there was so much more to do now that Lokil was asleep. She knelt by his side, the languor of feeding upon her.

Gently, she brushed a few strands of his hair out of his face, watching as his skin slowly turned back to the pale veneer he preferred. Every touch of her skin to his sent ripples of blue across his flesh. 

 It was fascinating.

 With a delicate touch, she lifted the unconscious man. He felt light in her arms.

Like a man carried a bride, Keshaara carried Lokil to her room. Her blue skin and his felt cold only when they were apart, but Keshaara was hardly bothered by the cold, so resisting the urge to touch him further was not a problem. His armor had melted from his skin, again, leaving him in the pale green rags he had worn the entire time he was here. 

She lay him down gently in her bed, and let her hand come to rest gently on his throat, covering the wound she had left him. Blue flesh radiated out from the point where she touched, exposing scars and marking that were hidden from the gaze of others in his waking. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. She smoothed his hair back, leaning over him, and _looking_ at him.

He was a prince, in rags.

 Finally deciding that that was not going to sit with her any longer, she found a spare change of clothing for him.

She had intended to be quick and professional about changing his clothing while he was asleep (in her bed, no less) but Keshaara, even consumed with the curse of the vampire’s disease, was ever so curious.

 So she pressed her hands to his hips hard enough to send  **blue** racing across his stomach, and slid his shirt up, careful to study all of the intricacies of the scars that came to light under her touch. The thrill of discovery rushed through her at the sight. Lokil was a thing of beauty however he came, and the scars only served to further accentuate his unnaturally fine bone structure. The scars wrapped around his body, begging for inspection, for touch, for so many things, but mostly, mostly, begging for her to look at him.

 His shirt was removed and placed gently to the side, and Keshaara allowed herself the minor indulgence of running her hands down his chest and watching the play of blue skin and bluer skin against each other.

 After that, though, she was purely assistive, not allowing herself to stare overlong or caress or, despite the hunger that bloomed inside of her again, climb atop him and drink his blood again.

 Well, on the latter, at least, she tried, but there was too much lust in her blood to resist his.She was hungry, her hunger was that of the ages, and his blood had tasted...unlike anything else. She had to have more. His ice in her blood cooled the fire that licked at the inside of her ribs

She was careful to merely lean over him to reopen the wounds she had closed, and even then, to only take a few more mouthfuls of blood from him. And then a few more, but then she was really done and was not going to lick his neck more than five or six times just to feel the ridges of those scars slide across her tongue. 

Divines, the taste of his _skin_ was salt and magicka, sweet ice and bitter frost. She had to stop. She had to stop, she couldn't open a new bite to really taste his flesh. She shouldn't. She did, biting into the thin skin over her collarbone, digging her teeth into bone, reveling in the feeling. There was less blood this time, hardly any blood at all, but it was the _feeling_ of biting that thrilled her.

 Then she was done.

* * *

 After the sun had risen that first morning and the vampirism burned from her blood, she had spent a long time pacing in the main hall. Her gut had been roiling, and she had nearly retched as coherency returned to her. The tail end of the disease had left her, and even then, she could not bring herself to throw up all the blood in her stomach.

She had tried though. Just to purge it all out of her, to rid herself of the addiction that hummed in her brain, even without the desire of the illness – but it had not worked. She simply could not make her body do what she had wished to do. It was not her choice, but a sickness that burned in her blood, and she was not strong enough to deny what she had done. 

 Fury and disgust dueled inside of her, and she spent a good amount of time raging in impotent anger. He was sleeping and she did not want to disturb him, but she paced frantically on her lower floor, hissing Morrowindish and Ashlandeh curses under her breath. The changes his blood had brought upon her did not fade. Not as quickly as she had expected, and the minor distraction of her changed appearance eventually replaced her rage.

 The whole world seemed as if it was consumed by a reddish haze, much like the snowblind lenses she had seen some Khajiit and Argonians using up in Winterhold. She went to find a bronzed mirror, and after a moment of consideration, she looked at herself.

 A completely foreign face looked back at her. For a minute, she stood in stunned silence, looking at her blue skin, the markings, and the way her eyes were red all the way through. She bared her teeth at the mirror, and was surprised to see them filed to sharpened points. As she moved, she watched the play of light across her new skin, marveling at the new form.

 She looked up, knowing Lokil was asleep somewhere above her, and wondering how he would react if she recorded this new skin of hers.

 It could not hurt to at least sketch out what she saw.

 Her rage was replaced, in pieces, with curiosity, and she went to fetch her colored oil crayons and vine charcoal. She spent a good long while drawing herself in the mirror, turning her face towards the light, and then away, creating a new piece of art for every angle she observed herself at. Keshaara paid special attention to the ritual scars that had etched themselves into her skin.

 She assumed there was some sort of significance to how they were laid out across the expanse of her skin, just how the markings of a Khajiit or Argonian could tell an observer plenty about them. If Lokil was ever going to speak to her again, she would have to ask if he knew what these different etchings meant. She thought her markings looked rather similar to Lokil’s, and if she had not seen how her body had changed from feeding from other races of Tamriel, she would have assumed she just picked up his own markings.

 But her eyes were keen, and she could see the difference between what had been etched over her skin, and what was etched into his. She also knew that the patternings she saw on her body did not match the patterns of those she drank from. It was more like her body was producing the patterns she would have had if she had been born Argonian or Khajiit.

 So she could only assume the same was true for whatever Lokil was. This was what she would have been, had she been born as he was. 

The information was interesting, and useful to have.

 Her sketches of her face were gently placed to the side. Keshaara quickly sketched what she could remember Lokil’s face looking like, knowing that there were probably a few things she was missing, but unwilling to go back and double check her work.

Still, it was a good enough comparison between her and him. She even took the time to re-sketch her own face next to his, taking down notes in between the two faces, comparing the differences between their markings and quickly writing out questions to herself. The meanings of markings were ceaselessly fascinating to her, especially as Nords rarely had any physical markers that "meant" anything in particular, unlike Argonian and Khajiit.

 There were subtle differences, perhaps generated by the differences in the underlying bone structure, though it did not seem to be true for all of the variations in the ridges on her face. Some of the markings were intentional, different, crossing her cheek in ways that his did not, or curling through her throat or across her brow.

Perhaps all females of his species looked like this?

It was possible. 

 From there, she decided that it would be best to also look at how the rest of her body looked. Without really much care for how it would appear if Lokil was to awaken, and come to find her standing naked in front of a mirror drawing herself, Keshaara stripped down and again, began the arduous task of recording every small variation in color, every scar and ridge, every last part of this new body she was in.

 She took notes extensively in the margins of some of the drawings, noting how her old scars did not seem to rise up on her skin as much, and instead seemed to be just the slightest bit lighter than the deep blue of the rest of her skin. The bruise from the vampire’s bite was nearly black under her new flesh, and the healed punctures were barely visible as dots of pale blue. She took a good long time sketching how the wound looked to her eyes, detailing everything she could possibly see.

 The pile of sketches was growing taller as she finally went into doing large, full-body sketches of her nude form, turning one way, and then the other to see as much of her body as possible. She drew everything she saw. Every curve and fold of her body, the sharp angles and smooth lines, she captured with her charcoal and oil crayons. The changing light worked with her, allowing her to capture herself in multiple angles and poses. It was only when she was on her last piece of good paper that she pulled herself closer to the mirror, staring deeply into the crimson depths of her eyes.

 The last drawing took her the longest time. She drew her eyes. Only her eyes, to the most exacting detail she could manage. Every ridge and fold of her eyelid, every line and raised scar, and every last shade of blue that formed her new skin, she drew down. No detail was spared, and even though she had done her best to hold a neutral gaze, Keshaara could not but help to see the tension that was held in her eyes.

 Still, she drew on, and on, and on, pouring all of her skill into the once-simple drawing. All of her pictures had seen alive, but when she glanced down to her art and beheld it all at once, she was nearly startled. The eyes of the creature glaring at her were feral and wild, and ferocious. They were her eyes, but all at once, she was struck by how inhuman she had become.

 It was not the blue skin that bothered her, or the scars that now traced intricacies into her face. But the ferality that lurked beneath her gaze, the animal instinct and desire that she could usually hide under her citrine eyes and a helmet that cloaked her face in shadows, was on raw display. Her breath caught in her throat as she kept drawing, trying to finish the piece so she could do something else. Anything else.

 Guilt that had been assuaged by the business, and the task she had set for herself, surged back to her. She had assaulted a guest in her own home. She had assaulted him twice over and he had not deserved that. Keshaara was Dovahkiin and she should be above that all. She did a terrible thing.

 She finished the drawing with a savage last stroke, gathered all of her papers and stormed out of her house.

 Keshaara could still fix this. The drafting table was still where it had always been, tucked away at the side of her house, protected by some warding magic so no one else could alter her things. She put all of the papers down atop of it, and weighed it down with a nearby hand mirror so that the wind would not take them away.

 Why she had brought them outside with her, she was not entirely sure, but it just felt better to have them out of the house. It felt so wrong, so very wrong, to have those drawings at all. She should not have done any of what she had done at all…Lokil had been so distraught at seeing his own skin turn blue, and even more so to see her own skin turn the same color as his own. But it was important for her to keep track of everything that had happened to her. not for anyone else's benediction but her own. 

No one but her would ever dare to write her story. If she had to be her own memorial, she would be.

 She sighed mightily, looking over her expansive armor work-station. The smelter was still belching flames, and there was a chest she had hidden in a small rock alcove full of all of her armor-making material.

 For a long moment, she stared at the chest, clenching and unclenching her scarred blue hands. Her mind was working again, and the first thing it consumed itself with was finding a way to set things right. She had done a horrible, terrible thing and it did not matter how much she regretted it, it still needed to be fixed.

 Having him stay with her was clearly not going to work, not if they were alone together. Vampires could easily come back or she could lose control again or regress or any of the other of hundreds of things that could go wrong when you are Dovahkiin and a goodly portion of the powers that be had some sort of interest in you being dead.

 Keshaara closed her eyes, and licked her ice-cold lips.

 Her mind spun a thousand thousand possibilities out of nothingness, and all at once, she knew what she would do.

 She just had some preparations to do.

 Throughout the next day, she worked, utilizing all of her considerable skill and creativity. She had an image in her mind’s eye and she was going to create it. There was so much to do, and she did not know if she had time for it all.

 Keshaara alternated between all the different tasks she had set for herself, and making meals to bring to Lokil’s room. She was careful to leave the food outside the door in case he awoke and was hungry. As much as she knew there was no more of the vampire's blight in her, she still did not trust herself when he was in as vulnerable position as he was in that moment.

She began preparing a saddle and multiple packs as well, rummaging through her prodigious collection of items and storing them in the packs. There was a growing pile near her as she organized and reorganized everything.

 At one point she dragged one of her armor mannequins from her armory out to where she was working on the armor for Lokil. He had refused all other armors before, and she figured that if he refused this too, at least she could never have to say that she had not done everything in her power to make sure he had protection on the road.

 The mannequin was already outfitted in black leather, the finest leather she had had, dyed and layered to be light, but entirely functional armor. The cut was a blend between the light leather armor she had obtained from the Brotherhood and the more magic-imbued robes she had obtained from the College of Winterhold. She had trimmed the leather in emerald cloth, embroidering intricate patterns with gold thread into the fabric. Dwarven and ebony metals fused together to provide light and durable armor over the most commonly struck areas, while the leather provided protection in lighter areas.

 She put all of her skill into the design, crafting the armor with all the finesse she had. She had to. She was obligated to. After everything she had done to him, she owed him this.

 Armor work, pack, fresh food, armor work, pack, fresh food, on and on and on she worked, tirelessly trying to get everything done as fast as she could work.

 It was startling, then, when she heard movement behind her as she was working on the final details for the modified gorget for Lokil. He was standing there, looking down at the drawings she had made. Shame flushed her skin, and even though she knew her skin was mottled now, patches of blue still present on her skin, she could feel the hot blush settled across her neck and cheeks.

 “Keshaara. You look…well.”

 She ducked her head, her shame still coloring her skin. She needed to do something with her hands, and turned back to her work, trying to figure out what she needed to say. Lokil was being polite, and not attacking her outright, and she was not sure how to take that.

 “Keshaara, is that…for me?”

 She looked at him for a moment, her eyes darting from him to the mannequin where the near-finished armor was on display, and then back to him.

 She nodded quickly, trying to figure out when he was going to blow up at her. Even in the new clothing she had given him, she could easily see the massive bruise that marred his neck.

 “I saw the drawings.”

 Obviously he had, she had seen him staring at them, but she felt like the comment was an accusation.

 “I am sorry. I thought…I recorded it for my own safekeeping, so that I could know a little bit better what else was out in the world, outside of Nirn. It is for my own edification. I will not be sharing it with anyone else. If you prefer, I can burn them. I just…I like to record the things that happen to me, so that if something happens, people can look back on what I saw and maybe learn something from it.”

 She watched him study the first few pages, an unreadable look passing over his face. She shifted uncomfortably, going back to her work on the armor.

 “No, no, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

 Keshaara paused, watching him for a moment longer, before her eyes dropped back down to somewhere around his knees.

 “I…I am sorry Lokil.”


	13. Fiik

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

Lokil, to his credit, did not say anything immediately, privately stunned that he was receiving an apology from someone he had goaded into action.

 Keshaara mistook his silence for condescension and was quick to start speaking again.

 “I…I have made arrangements. I think it is better for you if you were to stay at the College of Winterhold. The mages there are good at keeping secrets, and they will know where to look to find more information. There’s an orc, he works in the library, and he should know how to help you. His name is Urag gro-Shub. He owes me a favor, so if you get inside the College, ask for him and tell you that I sent you.”

 Lokil opened his mouth to speak, but Keshaara barreled right over his voice with her own.

 “I wrote a few letters to the people up at Winterhold. As Thane, I am allowed a few small favors, and I am claiming them so that you will have comfortable arrangements, away from others so that you can do research in quiet. If you can find anything that leads you to what could be an answer, send word to me through Urag and I will go hunt it down.

 “You’ll be taking Frost. If nothing else, in case the fifteen thousand septims you’ll be taking turns out not to be enough, you can sell him for twenty thousand or so more, as long as you don’t try and sell it to a Black-Briar. I have the packs arranged already and one of the nicer saddles I have so that you do not look like a target.”

 “Keshaara-”

 “If there are any weapons from the armory you would like, they are yours to take, or if you would prefer something else, I can forge it and have it to you within the day. I took my map and marked out a path you should take to Winterfell, and I had a friend forge documents for you so you can get anywhere you need to go unmolested.”

 “Keshaara-”

 “I took out the best cuts of meat for you, and they were cooked for travel so you can keep going. I also marked out on the map places where it is safe for you to stay – in the big cities where I hold Thaneship, my housecarls should tend to you if you let them know I sent you as houseguest from Lakeview Manor.”

 “ _Keshaara._ ”

 Lokil stepped forward and touched her arm, trying to get her to stop rambling.

 But the moment he made contact, Keshaara jumped away from him, pulling her arm away from him as if he had touched fire to her skin. Heterochromatic eyes wide, Keshaara looked to Lokil, waiting for him to make his next movement. He watched her eyes dance from his face to the horrific bruise on his neck, and the worry that she wore.

 “I am sorry, Lokil. I…I just want to give you the best chance. I acted entirely out of turn and I have disgraced myself.”

 She spoke quickly, trying to get all of the words out before Lokil could say anything else. When she was done though, she watched Lokil consider his words. There seemed to be a great question burning his lips, and it lit him from the inside out with intensity. Keshaara was nearly afraid of the look he gave her. He was other from her, and in this moment, Keshaara was astutely made aware of that again.

 “...And if I asked you to come with me?”

 “I would go.”

 She did not hesitate to respond.

 There was a smile on Lokil’s face now. Had she been a woman to back down, she would have quailed before that smile. He was a man enraptured by some idea or another, and as he approached her again, crowding into her personal space _again_ , she held still.

 Gently, he reached for a few strands of her hair, holding them in between his fingers. Keshaara turned her head away from him, unsure of where she should look, but not daring to look him in the eyes.

 “I quite like that. Accompany me to this College of yours, Dovahkiin. I _command_ it of you.”

 She tilted her head down just barely, and all at once, he was gone, walking away from her, and towards the mannequin she was outfitting. The only piece missing from the mannequin was the gorget and the final stitches, and Lokil seemed intent upon investigating it thoroughly.

 Carefully, she turned her back to him and went to finishing her project.

 There were sounds of approval from behind her, and she did her best not to turn and look. It was not much longer until she finished the piece, and when she turned, Lokil was already into the armor she had made, clearly waiting for this last piece.

 Her mouth went dry. She had not expected him to get dressed behind her while she worked, and had not been prepared to be stared down as she approached with the last piece. She had done a magnificent job in cutting the leather and metal in such a fashion that it suited his body supremely well. Perhaps too well. Lokil had been attractive in rags, and in cleaned armor, cut to his frame with perfection, he was breathtaking.

 “Could you put it on for me?” Lokil asked, with a coy smile.

 Keshaara obliged, stepping close to place the armor on his neck, over the bruise she had caused. She did not step away immediately, looking over the fit of everything. Lokil’s hand reached out and caught her by the waist when she moved to step away from him.

 His fingers fit perfectly into the bruises on her hips, and he clenched his hand just hard enough to remind her of the pain.

 “So, Dovahkiin, you are mine to command,” he purred in a tone she was entirely too familiar with, and not going to stand for.

 She grabbed his wrist and twisted it away from her body. With a rather brutal drive forward, Keshaara jammed one of her legs between his, and _pushed_. Lokil stumbled backwards, hissing at the wrist-lock she had put on him. She hooked one of her feet up behind his knee and kicked her heel back towards herself. Lokil dropped to his knee in front of her, rage in his voice.

 “You are only in _command_ of me until Winterhold. I have already done much and more than I should have and if you think I have forgotten the liberties you have already taken, you are denser than dragonbone. I will follow you to Winterhold, and I will recuse myself from your life after that. There is no real power you hold over me.”

 Her armor, kept in the pouch at her waist by the same magic that allowed her to store thousands of objects in a single chest snapped onto her body, and all at once it was the Dovahkiin staring down at Lokil, not Keshaara.

 “Do not presume that I am _yours_ to command. I may be remorseful for what I did to your neck, and the liberties I took, but do not for a moment assume that because my remorse is masked in deference that you command me. I take you to Winterhold because it is safer, and bringing you there myself protects you,” she said simply.

 She had been made to be a servant before, and she had served faithfully because she had never had the opportunity to do otherwise. Lokil did not command her. Lokil did not do anything other than inexplicably get under her skin and make her react in ways she rarely ever did. She had lost her control so many times as soon as he fell into her life, but now it seemed to happen more and more often, and every time, he was the onus of it.

 Lokil smirked at her and extricated his wrist from her grip.

 “Oh, as you say, Keshaara. I would never command you again, though it did rather seem as if you _craved_ that.”

 His words crawled into her ear, and she wished she could stop the shiver that made her entire body shudder. With his hands back under his control, he wrapped them around her legs, locking his elbows in behind her knees and letting his hands reach up to grasp the backs of her thighs.

 For a moment, Keshaara did not move, stunned at the actions of this man. Part of her wanted to punch him as hard as she could muster until his face was a bloodied mess, and the other parts were torn between pulling him up to her level so she could push him against the wall of her house and kiss him until his skin turned blue again, and allowing the two of them to trade places and kneel before him. Her eyes narrowed, and Lokil smiled knowingly at her.

 “And yet you are the one kneeling, Lokil.”

 There was no way for her extricate herself from his grasp without falling on her ass, and she really did not want to do that. Whether that ‘that’ meant get free or fall down, she was not sure. She could not make herself be sure either, because the more she stared down into his eyes, the less she could really make that decision for herself.

 “Sometimes it is nice to kneel. Sometimes it can be enjoyable to prostrate yourself at the feet of someone better than you. Sometimes it is worth it.”

 His words wrapped around her mind, and there was comforting warmth to his words she did not expect. Not much after she felt that warmth, she recognized the drugged words as just that. Again, she pushed his hands away from her and stumbled away, trying to catch her breath.

 Had she stopped breathing? When had that happened?

 She pressed a hand to her chest, still trying to figure out what Lokil had done to her. She could not justify the thoughts that were ebbing from her because they were not foreign to her. She was by no means some simpering flower of a woman, and had quite the appetite for all things, but Lokil was so far from her type that the only explanation was some sort of magic.

 “I…I don’t believe that. We, uhm, we will be leaving shortly.”

 “You seem disturbed, Keshaara. Why is that?”

 She had been walking away, to prepare her own provisions for the journey, when his voice caught her again. She stopped and turned back to him.

 “I don’t know. I don’t…I don’t think I should trust you, but I do. Divines help me, but I do _trust_ you. Your words wrap around my mind and I know that is wrong, but I cannot help but still trust you. You say you are not daedra, but you affect me like you are. Regardless of all of this, I said I would protect you, and even if that means that I end up sworn to another dark thing, I will do it. Why, what do you think could have caused my state of mind?”

 He smiled at her and stayed still, running his fingers over the hem of his new leather jacket.

 “Goodness, I would not know, Keshaara. I do seem to have that affect on people…”

 Keshaara ‘hmm’d noncommittally, and looked Lokil over.

 “I can’t imagine why that would be.”

 He laughed at her response, and nodded.

 “It is a great mystery, Keshaara.”

 “Just…call me Kesh. It’s easier on the tongue. Is there anything else you need, Lokil? I am just going to gather my few things and then we will be leaving for Winterhold.”

 He shook his head, and watched her leave, back for her house. The new armor felt perfect on his skin, and he supposed having this armor in tandem with the armor he could summon was beneficial. It seemed to be masterfully made, by someone who genuinely knows what they are doing at the forge, and when the light caught the stitching, he could clearly see the hand-embroidered patterns Keshaara had laboriously made in the fabric.

 Knowing he had time to look over his armor later, Lokil went to the table where her drawings were still placed. He picked up the ream of paper and flipped through it, looking over the various pages of her sketches, curious to see more of how Keshaara saw herself when she was wearing his skin.

 It was soon apparent that she had not been wearing his skin, exactly – there was even a comparative page she had drafted where it was both of their faces (his, presumably drawn from memory), and in tiny, neat handwriting, there were notes written, with lines drawn to compare ‘like’ parts of their faces. That one, he pulled to the side, along with the one where Keshaara had drawn her eyes and with a lewd grin, removed one of the full-body images the Dovahkiin had drawn. Quickly, he hid them inside his jacket, turning as he heard Keshaara exit the house.

 He had his mouth open to say something about the rest of the art, perhaps a crass comment about how she had drawn herself, because as one who had seen her, he could say that she had perhaps taken liberties, but the untruth died on his lips.

 The armor she wore now was utterly different from the heavy steel she had been wearing nearly every other moment he had seen her. This was armor as black as the abyss, edged in charcoal grey, light and tight to her flesh. A mask carved to look like fangs came up and covered almost all of her face, and when she pulled her hood up over her head, she was nothing but shadows.

 Alluring shadows, but shadows nonetheless.

 Keshaara walked forward and snatched the papers out of Lokil’s hands. He could not see her mouth, but her brows were furrowed, so he could only assume she was scowling at him.

 “Let us go, alright?”

 Lokil could not help but gape at her as she passed him by, the papers vanishing from her hands, into that mysterious pouch of hers that seemed to hold so much.

 “You changed your armor, Kesh?” he said, trying out the new name on his tongue. It was a name for a younger woman, and the sounds tasted bright in his mouth.

 “I don’t know what you are questioning what you can plainly see. Yes, I changed my armor. It is necessary for where we are going. Saddle up, pretty boy; we have a hard ride ahead of us.”

 Shadowmere was somehow already saddled and Keshaara was swinging her leg up and over the great beast’s back.

 Lokil was, for a moment, standing in her shadow – a black-clad rider on a steed from the deepest planes of existence. She did not even spare him a glance, staring down the road in front of her, waiting for him to follow. He stepped out of her shadow, towards Frost, suddenly struck by the majesty that Keshaara wore so poorly. Unlike those he had been surrounded by as he aged towards adulthood, Keshaara wore the mantle of power uneasily.

 He mounted the great steed, and Keshaara looked to him.

 “We ride until eveningfall. If there is good time made, we will get to one of the hunters-huts nearby and can rest there. It will be a long few days until Winterhold, and the ride will only get worse as we bear northward. Winterhold is not ill-named, and if Hircine is kind to me for _once_ , we can hunt bear and sabercat for furs so I won’t show up to Winterhold a beggar.”

 Lokil rather thought that her appearance alone would be enough to assuage thoughts of her being anything other than crowned in power, but he kept that opinion to himself.

 He rather thought he would be keeping a few other opinions to himself as well.


	14. Frin

The Tale of the Dragonborn

The Tale of the Jotun Prince

* * *

 

 

Keshaara and Lokil rode in silence for a long while. No one disturbed them on the roads, because no one passed them on the roads. Keshaara would, every so often, incline her head as if she had heard something, but whatever it was, it never came close enough for her to react more than that.

 Lokil grew bored of the silence.

 “Kesh, I have a curiosity to ask you about,” he said all at once, breaking the otherwise comfortable quiet of the forest.

 “And I, you, Lokil.”

 Her response was given to the air in front of her. She did not even bother to turn her head to speak to him properly. Her voice was even and measured, as if she was intentionally trying to remain calm when she was in fact not. He gently spurred Frost to catch up to Shadowmere, to better converse with Keshaara.

 “Well then I will ask you questions, and you can ask me questions, then. Is that fair?”

 “Provided you answer all the questions I ask of you, and answer them truthfully, I will answer all the questions you ask of me.”

 With her mask in place, he could not see if she was smiling or frowning as she spoke, and her words were intentionally spoken in such a tone that it was vague whether or not she was upset with him. Keshaara knew this and was careful to keep her tone neutral for now. Lokil had liked it when she reacted and she was not going to give him the responses he wanted.

 “That seems fair enough.”

 Keshaara nodded. Still, she did not look at Lokil, her eyes firmly on the road.

 “What is it that you want to know, then?”

 Lokil considered what he would ask. There were many questions, but he knew that if he pushed her too far, she would snap back. Unlike the others he may have faced before, she knew the weight of her words, and seemed to be even more careful with them than usual.

 “Where are you from?”

 That got her attention, and she turned her head sharply to look at him. Her eyes were narrow and her brows were drawn down.

 “I am…from a small, far-away town in Morrowind. The name…I don’t think it was ever named. It was a camp more than a town. We would sometimes go in to town, but we lived apart. That’s all I remember.”

 “Where is Morrowind?”

 Keshaara snorted.

 “One question per turn, Lokil, those are the rules. It is, I think, my turn.”

 Lokil frowned, and turned his head away. She was being infuriating again, but it did not seem she would allow him to stretch the rules of this game she had concocted.

 “Then what is it you are curious about?”

 “Hah, another question! You are not very good at this game, I think. How is it that you came to be in a tree in the Reach?”

 “I truthfully do not know. If I did, I would have undone whatever seidhr that sent me here and been back where I had been within the moment.”

 Keshaara bit the question back on her tongue, and waited for it to be her turn at least. This was a game she had played many times before. It made journeys go faster and it fostered familiarity and friendship between travelling companions, something that had been invariably useful to her in her travels.

 “Now, where is Morrowind?”

 She laughed, and pointed to the east and north.

 “That way. I will indulge you with a slightly more prolonged answer if you wish, but I will remind you that I did give you a map of all of Tamriel, if you bother to check your packs for it.”

 Lokil’s pale cheeks were dusted with pink for but a moment before he followed her pointing finger to one of the many packs on Frost. The map he was looking for jumped into his hands as soon as he touched the appropriate pouch and he jumped.

 “What is thi-”

 “Come now, _Lokil_.  That is three faults already. I must think that I need to apply some sort of punishment for speaking out of turn,” Keshaara said with a sideways glance.

 There was…there was _mischief_ in her eyes again, and Lokil found himself smiling at her. If she was going to play a game, then he would play it right back.

 “What sort of punis-”

 “Four, Lokil. Four. Oh, the _fun_ I will have with you. Where is home, for you?”

 She had gone from a half-joke to the question so quickly that Lokil had not the time to realize what was happening until the question had settled around his neck. Fear colored his green eyes, and panic crept into his voice. Underneath her gaze, all at once, he felt small and trapped. She stared him down, unflinching and unwavering. He knew of one other person who shared a similar eye color to her own, and that being could see all. Keshaara could not be related to Heimdall, but in the moment, her unblinking gaze made his skin crawl.

 “I don’t have a home. I did, once, but not anymore. Whatever it was, it is far from here, in the Nine Realms.”  

 Keshaara nodded, turning her head away from him. The tone in his voice was impossible to misread. His home was not something she should talk of.

 “If you want to talk about it, I will listen. But if you do not, I will not ask of it again.”

 “That would be best. My parentage is not something I want to acknowledge. Are you a virgin?”

 “I don’t know what that is, so perhaps, perhaps not. I suppose that is a term from Asgard…but here, it is not something we have a concept of. What does it mean?”

 Lokil had intended to disarm her, to throw her attitude off, to get her to react and get her attention going somewhere else, but he had not expected that.

 “It means that you have never had sex before.”

 Again, her next reaction was not what he had expected. Keshaara laughed, throwing her head back and not stopping for a long few moments.

 “I guess this is your way of trying to embarrass me. Things are much different here. That is not something that we care about here. I have had plenty of sex. Sex is fantastic, and I enjoy it _immensely_.”

 She was so blasé about the statement that it nearly startled him. This woman was not at all how he has expected her to act about these personal, prying questions. She was taking all of it in stride, and unless he had misread her, she honestly did not care about these questions and was truly treating it as nothing more than a game. She wasn’t looking at him though, her eyes still on the road as they trekked onward. In profile, he could barely catch a glimpse of her face, but her body was rocking in time with Shadowmere’s steps, and he could clearly see the outline of her delicately strong body.

 Lokil had to switch tactics if he was going to get a rise out of her and stop rising himself.

 “So. Are you happy being Dovahkiin?”

 She flicked her head back to him for only a moment before looking forward.

 “I do not know what you mean by happy to be Dovahkiin. I am Dovahkiin, it is as inescapable as my lineage and everything else about me. I do not know if that is something to be happy about. Are you happy being disguised like you are?”

 “No. No, I am not. How long have you been Dovahkiin?”

 “Three years, ever since I first came into Skyrim. You said your people counted you as a God. What were you God of, then?”

 “Lies, trickery, mischief, general misconduct. Many things, but not the things that are valued by my people, as you called them. I try to be what they want, but it is not as enjoyable as being who I was born to be.”

 “Then why not be yourself?”

 Lokil snorted.

 “Now you are asking out of turn, aren’t you?”

 “No, because you already mussed with the rules four times. I have four questions I can ask – now three, out of turn. Why are you not happy with your skin? It is…breathtaking to behold you as you are. Is it somehow shameful to have these marks, like I had?”

 Lokil frowned and twisted his mouth. She was enragingly blunt and asking all the wrong questions. She was playing her game and it was keeping him from playing his by refusing to rise to the bait.

 “I do not think I want to play the game anymore, Keshaara,” he muttered.

 “You do not get to decide when the game is over Lokil. Do you abdicate those questions, then? Refusing to answer is allowed, but it only means that you are going to have to be punished for breaking the rules of the game.”

 He snarled at her, reining Frost up short and twisting in the saddle to snap at her.

 “I do not want to play your moronic game, Keshaara. You are prying too deeply into matters that are none of your concern. You are merely to take me to Winterhold and get me out of this backwards realm,” Lokil snapped, the air around him shimmering with magic.

 “Then you abdicate the questions and the game,” she said with a laugh.

 For some reason, this outburst was amusing to her. Keshaara was by no means afraid of Lokil, or anything he could do to her. The only person he would hurt if he tried to hurt her was himself.

 Lokil growled at her, opening his mouth to continue the argument.

 “Turn here, the hut is this way. We made great time, and we will have plenty of time for you to continue this argument.”

 Lokil refused to do as she asked, stopping Frost cold as Keshaara crossed in front of him. That got her attention, and even though she looked at him with smiles still dancing in her eyes, he could tell that he may have again managed to get her attention. He had no idea why the thought of upsetting her, or anyone and everyone else was so much better than having them smile with him, but when he saw the smile die, the same thrill he had felt at pestering Thor to action rushed through him.

 “Lokil, do you wish to carry on, then? I would rather sleep somewhere warm, with a full belly and where we will not be attacked by whatever stalks the roads at night, but if you would prefer a night of danger, I will oblige you.”

 He had no response for her, and worried the reins in his hands. She had, only this morning, reacted so nicely to him, rising to his challenges with ire and confusion, and now it seemed as if she was merely entertaining him with responses, but not taking him seriously.

 Wordlessly, he turned Frost and followed her off the road, into the forest that surrounded the road. Keshaara clearly knew where she was going, because despite the heavy foliage, it was only a matter of minutes before the trees opened into a clearing with a small, dilapidated hut, with a pen for horses, a small trough and an overgrown garden.

 “ _This_ is where we are staying?” he asked derisively.

 “This is where _I_ am staying, and you are invited to accompany me, if it is not too much for the mighty God of Tricks to manage to spend an evening entertained by the mere Dovahkiin.”

 Lokil snorted, but recognized the joke for what it was. His sour mood was lifted only slightly when he watched Keshaara dismount Shadowmere from behind. Her armor was truly a magnificently crafted work of art, and the body beneath it was as well. Absentmindedly, his hand rose to the pocket in his coat, where he had hidden her drawings.

 As soon as he recognized the movement, though, he quickly put his hand back down on the reins and dismounted Frost. Keshaara was busy getting the small place ready for them to bunk down for the night. The beautiful armor she wore flickered and faded away, and again, she was wearing the same outfit she had been garbed in when he had come out to see her that morning.

 She sighed and tried to work a kink out of her back as she went around the campsite, stretching to and fro to try and get her low back to relax. Keshaara did not ask Lokil for help, merely pointed to where Frost should be hitched for the night as she started the fire with a soft “ _Yol_ ”, and began cooking dinner for them both.

 Lokil followed her directions, but only begrudgingly. Keshaara just made a face at him and tended the stew pot.

 “Is it stew again?”

 “Unless you prefer sucking on meat, yes. There was no time to hunt around playing with you.”

 His mouth inexplicably went dry at her words, and he looked at her. Lokil suddenly did not know what to do with his hands, and looking at Keshaara nervously. What was happening?

 She sat, wreathed in firelight, tending the fire as she made dinner for them both. All of the Jotun-blue had faded from her skin, leaving her just as she had always been. The urge to be cruel to her again was rising. He needed to be cruel to her, he needed to make that anger flicker across her face again, and watch her rise to the emotional bait he set out. He needed that, because he needed…to…

 “Lokil, stop giving me the evil eye, and come sit. We will have to share the bed. I have not slept in more than a few days, and as much as I am loathe to succumb to the dreams, I know I should.”

 Finally, an opportunity.

 “So eager to have me in your bed, o Dovahkiin?” he teased, taking the offered bowl from her hands.

 What he was not expecting from this damned woman was for her to look him over from head to toe (as he had seen Thor do thousands of times to the wenches around the palace) and _smile_.

 “I have never tupped a God before. I would not say no, if you weren’t so opposed.”

 He gaped at her.

 “What is your game? What is your bedamned game?” he growled at her, pulling her to her feet by an arm.

 Keshaara gently tipped the bowl in his hands out of his grasp and grabbed him by the back of his neck. She ghosted her lips across his, teasingly close. Her fingers rubbed gentle circles at the base of his skull, and her body was pressed delightfully close to his. He reached for her, but kept himself from actually touching her.

 “I play the games I want to play. You are asking out of turn, Lokil. Did you want your punishment?”

 He wanted to say something. He really did, but Lokil, for all of his dashing good looks had never been the object of affections on Asgard. Men like him were not valued, and being Prince meant those near him would see Thor first, regardless. He was far from inexperienced, but…but it was not like this.

 “Ah…ahm…” was all he could manage as her body slid closer to his, and it shamed him. Why was he reacting like this to her? _Why_. He had never - not once had he had to deal with this. Not with her, not with someone as damnably wicked as her. His silver tongue failed him as hers gently licked at his lower lip. 

 “You’ll need to answer me, Lokil.”

 She was barely kissing him, and it was taunting him more than it should. She, on the other hand, was enjoying this immensely. Keshaara had been silently stewing the entire day, and the mask over her face had allowed her to disguise her fury at some of the things he had said throughout the day, and it had clearly confused him.

 That – that pleased her. Lokil liked teasing her, and he liked getting under her skin. When he thought he could, well then he kept trying, but it was laughably ineffective. It seemed once you broke through his usual defense mechanism, Lokil was just as easy to play with as anyone else.

 He needed to do something.

 “I guess not. Have your stew, Lokil. I will sleep now, you should enjoy the night.”

 Keshaara smiled and stepped away. Lokil leaned into the space she had been, but she was already away, walking into the hut with a wave behind her. He would have had to been blind to miss the smirk she shot him over her shoulder.

 She had been playing with him.

 And he had lost. This time, at least. If she was going to insist upon playing with him, she was going to get more than she bargained for.


	15. Komeyt

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

Lokil sat by the fire for a long while, nursing his injured pride and a bowl of stew. Keshaara, ever vigilant, watched him from the shadows of the door. When he thought he was alone, Lokil was far more prone to letting his true emotions shine through, and she had clearly managed to upset him somehow.

 Good.

 That was a man who needed to be challenged, who craved the challenge of others and too often found them lacking. She narrowed her eyes, wondering of his history. He could very easily be dangerous to him and even if she had spoken truths to him in their game, she was still hesitant about him. There was something broken deep inside of him.

 She could sympathize, but she hid her shattered heart well. Every movement Lokil made only drew attention to the fact that he had been broken. How anyone could miss that this was a man who had been brought to the edge of his own mind again and again and again, she could not guess.

 Perhaps it was because she was Dovahkiin that she could see what others could not. She could taste the desperation in his words, and feel the thrum of anxiety in him, even when it was masked with snide comments and jeers.

 That was why she did not feel threatened by him. She understood the actions, even if she did not understand the reasons. He was dangerous, yes, but he was dangerous to people he could get a rise out of, people he knew well, people he could dissemble and use. Keshaara was none of those – or at least, she was not easily dissembled and used. Not unless she allowed it.

 Lokil was going to continue trying to get under her skin. And there was no part of her that wanted to stop getting underneath his. That pale exterior he wore was nowhere near as interesting as the blue flesh beneath it. Even if he never wanted to talk about it, she wanted to know more.

 It seemed, though, that she had taken too long in watching him. His green eyes skimmed over to where she was sitting, and the tick of a smile on his lips told her that he had seen her. With a shrug, Keshaara scooted forward on the floor, into the doorframe proper and hung her legs out of the hut.

 “The Roarer, as some people call it,” she said, pointing to the lights that danced in the sky. “Some people say it is Lorkhan’s magicka fueling our world, supplying the magicka we mages can feel and sense…others say it is merely a reaction in the sky with things we cannot yet understand, and others think it is a sign that their champion is winning, depending on the colors. I just think it is beautiful.”

 Lokil looked up to the colored sky. Above their heads were the dancing lights of the aurora, gold and green tonight. They were unusual colors, sure, but she had seen them in the same colors before. The colors made Lokil smile though.

 “And it looks like tonight, you are their champion, o God of Mischief,” she said with a laugh, still looking to the sky.

 “I doubt that. I am not much a champion of anything.”

 Keshaara looked down to him.

 “I do not think I believe that, Loki. But, as you say. Do you see that, behind the Roarer? Those stars?” she asked, tracing the familiar constellation with her fingers.

 He looked up, but the difference in their vantage point made it impossible for him to really see what she was trying to indicate. He shrugged, and looked back down to her.

 “Come, sit next to me. That is the Thief, one of our thirteen constellations that are blessings, even though there are nineteen others.”

 Lokil shared the doorway with her, sitting right next to her so that she could keep pointing things out to him.

 “There, the Thief. You can ask his blessing, like you can ask the blessing from any of the other twelve, though not all people can receive them.”

 He leaned closer to her to watch the way her finger delineated the stars that made up the Thief. Sure enough, there was the constellation, a Thief written into the stars.

 “There are twelve others? Are these worshipped or-”

 “No, not worshipped. They are…old superstitions to most, but in my experiences, their gifts are real. They were once ways people tried to change their fates. In order to truly be blessed, you need to go to their Standing Stone and ask nicely, but most people content themselves with looking at the stars.”

 Keshaara smiled up at the sky, looking for the others she could see.

 “Over there is the Lord, next to his Lady. The Warrior stands over the Atronach and the Serpent, the Thief stands near the Shadow. The Apprentice is at the feet of the Lord and Lady. The Mage and his Ritual stand apart from the others. The Steed and the Tower frame the others.”

 She pointed to each constellation in turn. Some were hard to see behind the glow of the aurora, but she still did her best to outline them for Lokil.

 “That is only Twelve.”

 “Observant. Yes, there is one other, though she is shy and often hides her face. She is my favorite and the one I have invoked many times, and if I remember my star charts, she is currently directly above our heads.”

 “Who is she?” Lokil asked, peering up as far as he could to see if he could ferret out the form of this constellation.

 “The Lover.”

 She smiled as she looked at him, and with the distance from the fire, she could not be sure of it, but it rather looked like he was blushing. She smiled crookedly at him.

 “You have an interesting taste, then, Kesh.”

 “Hardly at all – in this matter at least. Things are easier when you are a lover. Lovers are protected and cared for, and even though she is considered to be one of the weaker aspects of our sky, falling at her feet has certainly improved my life immensely. The Lover is not for one who wants to change their fate, but has come to accept it. All things come from Lovers, and the Lover herself influences all things. The others rise and fall, but in Skyrim, the Lover never falters from her position in the sky.”

 Keshaara spoke simply, without moving her hands to elucidate her points. This was something that merely was fact to her, and she rather did not care if Lokil believed her or not.

 “I see. Why would you not pick the Warrior?”

 Lokil pointed to the constellation he spoke of, both for his benediction, and for hers.

 “The Warrior falls when times turn harsh. And the path of the Warrior was never one I wanted. If I am to change my fate, I would not change it to be the path I did not desire.”

 “…You never wanted to be Dovahkiin?”

 She snorted and tore her eyes from the sky, looking back to the earth.

 “I have _always_ been Dovahkiin. It is not a matter of becoming, only of being recognized as such. I was born Dovahkiin, I was conceived as Dovahkiin, and in the annals of Oblivion, where fates are written, I am Dovahkiin. Even Hermaeus Mora, in all of his knowledge, knew me to be Dovahkiin before I was born. I…” she paused, catching herself from saying too much. “I was not raised to be Dovahkiin. I was raised and trained far from Skyrim, away from the destiny I never knew was nestled in this body. I only found out when I was brought into Skyrim, and now, it is all I can be, and all I can do.”

 Keshaara sighed, and turned back to Lokil.

 “So no. I never wanted to be Dovahkiin. But I am. And denying that is not going to help me. I am Keshaara, born Dovahkiin. Born many things, but the only one that matters is that I was born Dovahkiin.”

 He was silent for many moments after that, staring closed-mouth at her.

 “Does the great God of Lies detect mistruth on my breath?”

 There was venom in her voice, a hissing challenge that he was undoubtedly made aware of.

 “No. You spoke truth to me, but it was not a truth you wanted to give to me. You could have lied. You could have refused the answer.”

 “And then what, Lokil, man of forests and trees? The questions would have burned you. Unlike those I have encountered before you, you question me. You question my motives, my purpose, my resolve. You cause me to question myself, and bring truths that I would otherwise hide in my heart. I am tired of hiding my hurts because I am Dovahkiin. You are…not from here. There is no hero worship in your heart, there is no reason for you to try and do anything to attain my grace or ire. That, and I do rather like the game of questions. Even if you do ignore a good half of the rules in favor of being an obnoxious tit.”

 Lokil laughed, throwing his head back and really, really _laughing_.

 “I do not think, in all my time living, that someone has had the nerve to call me an obnoxious tit to my face. Behind my back, that and more, but never to my face.”

 “Well, when you have Daedra whispering in your ear and are told to face down that which would destroy the entire realm you know and love, reverence for divinity goes right out the window,” Keshaara said, miming her hands flying through the air.

 Her words were light, but the way her body moved gave testament to how much she despised what happened in the night.

 “What are the Daedra?”

 “You have asked and been told the answer to that before, Lokil. They are not our ancestors. They foist change upon the unwary and I am unfortunate enough to be beholden to…at least two of them. There would be a third, but I would prefer to be hunted by Hircine, and allow Sanguine to ravage me, than allow Molag Bal to possess me again.”

 “What power do they hold over you, that you could not manage to escape them?”

 “They are Daedra. Their powers are greater than those of the Divines. They play with mortals at their own whims, and a mortal such as the Dovahkiin invariably ends up a pawn in some game or another.”

 Keshaara’s tone was clipped and short.

 “I see. Are they truly so terrible to serve?”

 “Were you anyone else, I would accuse you of being too curious about what service means to me, and what it means to serve a Daedra as I have been made to. But yes, they are truly terrible. In service given or taken, they are _terrible._ Sanguine would have me forget all propriety and debase myself for eternity, Hircine grants me a gift with one hand and claims my eternity as prey with the other, Hermaeus Mora would have me serve him in insanity and fury as others have before and offers himself and service to him as a better option than to be Hircine’s prey, and I do not trust a Daedra that insists upon so many…tentacles. Molag Bal merely desires to possess me and sends Harkon and all the legions of vampires against me in the hopes of attaining the Dovahkiin again. Sheograth was once one like me, and may one day seek to assimilate me into him, so he has a partner in his unending, unerring madness. Vaermina haunts my dreams in retaliation for relieving Dawnstar from their nightmares. Namira would make me like her acolytes, and on and on and on, and it is truly a shocking thing that I have not succumbed.”

 Anger bled out of her as she talked. Her shoulders sagged. It had been a while since she delineated her particular dilemma with the Daedra and it still made her ache inside.

 “Glorious Sovngarde is taken from me. I will never have a hero’s rest, a hero’s death or a hero’s peace. I will be hunted. Or I will be mad. Or any of the number of other things that the Daedra have in store for me. Mead with those glorious heroes whose stories I heard when bouncing on my mother’s knee will never be mine to share. My spot in Sovngarde is forever taken from me. The only glory I thought I could claim for myself is gone forever. I have this one life, and then an eternity of misery. It is hard to tell which is worse – knowing that I will never rest with the glorious dead, or knowing that this was all my cowardice in choosing the path that allows me some meager protection from my fears that caused it to be so.”

 Keshaara shook her head, frowning as she remembered all of the things she had had to go through just to get here, and now, here she was, spilling her secrets to someone she barely knew. Well, it was one way to form a bond, and if he went and told her fears to anyone else, she doubted anyone would believe him, or even bother to take him seriously. What did anyone else care for her eternal damnation? They merely needed her to do her job.

 “There are better things to talk about than my morose nonexistence of a peaceful afterlife, though. Apologies for prattling, the hour must be late for my tongue to wag so.”

 She made to stand, but Lokil’s hand reached out to gently touch her arm.

 “Keshaara, why did you tell me that?” the man asked, looking to her with confusion in his deep green eyes.

 “Because I have never told anyone else. And you asked a question that no one else bothered to ask. If I did not tell you, I do not think anyone would have ever heard me say those things. It is this unspoken history of the Dovahkiin, now shared with one other.”

 She looked down on him, but did not shake his hand away from her body, or make another move. She was waiting for something.

 “I…you honor me with your secrets, knowing some of my nature to be that of Thief, and Liar,” he sounded upset all at once, peturbed by something. 

 “I am thief, myself. Liar and assassin. I am many things, Lokil, I wear many masks.”

 He ‘hmph’d at her, turning his head away and retracting his arm. Something she had said had rankled him.

 “Did I offer insult, Lokil?”

 This time, Lokil growled, and stood quickly, invading her personal space with a sneer on his face and cruelty in his eyes.

 “My name is Loki. _Loki_. I may not have anything else to my name but that name, but -”

 “Loki, you only had to tell me,” Keshaara said softly. “I am only trying to keep you safe. If people know your name, they could have some sort of power over you, could they not? It is safer, in public to refer to you with a name that is not your own. But in private, if you prefer, I will call you only Loki.”

 She watched, placidly, as his face transformed into a mask of pure fury. He did not scream, but there was undoubtedly rage in him, and Keshaara did not know where it had come from. What had she said to cause such a reaction in him? Lokil…Loki had not shown any displeasure with what she had been doing until just then.

 He made some sound of rage and lunged at her. Keshaara backed up, her leg hitting the short cabinet that was nearly falling apart, but she could not evade him. Clumsily, his lips met hers and he kissed her brutally, pushing her up against the wall and pinning her there with all his strength. His armor dug into her and he pushed his body into hers.

 She did not move, just allowed him to slant his mouth across hers.

 He drew away after a few moments, and snarled at her.

 “Why aren’t you fighting _back_?” he demanded of her, shaking her harshly. “You have always reacted when I do this, or when I pry into your past, or when I do something and now you are not. WHY?!”

 Ah, it was a tantrum then.

 “Loki, it is because I do not want to fight you. I have nothing to gain by fighting you, and you have nothing to gain from me battling back. If you want to strip down and explore each other’s body, we can do just that. You are an attractive man and it would be a thing of great personal pride to say that I managed to entertain a God in bed, even if you are a God from Asgard.”

 “I’m _not_ from _Asgard_ , you imbecile! I am a Jotun, of Jotunheim, a monster stolen from my homeland and raised as prince by two people who would have me believe they loved me. But they were _using_ me. I was denied my rightful place as King and now I am stuck in this backwater land, removed from the Nine Realms where I should be ruling from the throne of Asgard and I will not be patronized by **you**.”

 His skin flickered blue as his temper flared, and the cold air of Skyrim grew only colder in his vicinity. Keshaara pressed her back into the wall of the hut, trying to shrink away from him in case he struck out at her. She wisely did not say anything, waiting to see if he would do anything else.

 But it seemed that his tantrum was abating, and he was withdrawing back into himself. The pale skin returned, and all that was left was a man who had broken himself up inside.

 “Loki, do you think that it matters to me what you are? I already said that as long as you aren’t dangerous to me, I don’t care. I told you I trusted you. I told you that if you wanted to return to where you had come from, I would help you. I meant all of that.”

 He punched the wall next to her head, and his fest went clear through the rotted wood. Keshaara did not flinch, and remained perfectly still, unarmed and unarmored.

 “Are you quite done treating me like a mortal being, Keshaara? I could kill you right now if I wanted to.”

 His face was back close to hers, his nose pressing against hers and his green eyes wide with rage.

 There was a rumble, and a blade appeared in Keshaara’s hand. The tip of the shimmering, ethereal weapon jutted up under his chin, and Loki’s head snapped backwards to keep it from spearing his chin.

 “I do not think you could, Loki. You may be a God, but you have no idea what I am capable of. I will not hesitate to fight you if you insist upon attacking me, but the end result will undoubtedly be you facefirst on the ground with my boot on your neck. For someone who talks so freely of subjugation, perhaps it is you that needs to be made to kneel.”

 “And do you think you could make me kneel to you?”

 The challenge was unmistakable, and Keshaara jutted her head up to sneer back at Loki, baring her teeth in a war-grin.

 “I have made people stronger than you kneel before me. You are just another man. Jotun or not, Asgardian or not, you are a man. And men are _made_ to kneel.”


	16. Ensosin

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

The way Loki’s shoulders shifted was the only indication she got that something was going on. Keshaara twisted to the side and dropped down, narrowly avoiding a green bolt of light that materialized into a knife that thudded into the wall.

 She dove to the right, back towards the door to the hut. Wood splinters exploded around her as Loki tore his fist from the wall. Her first instinct was to get her armor back on her, and in a flash, she was wearing her heavy steel again. A bolt of green flashed at her head, and before she drew her axe from her belt, she threw a single hand up, and his magic was deflected in a wide arc around her.

 Keshaara may have liked to trade blows with things from time to time, but she was by no means poor at throwing ward-spells when she needed to. The green fire abated, and Loki charged her, a knife glittering in his hand. She brought both hands up and flicked them, summoning her own magic to her. Orange and blue firelight danced around her fingertips and after a moment to allow the power to build up inside of her, she thrust the magic out.

 There was a roar in the air as the fire burst from her hands. It caught Loki square in the gut and blasted him backwards into the hut, spreading fire all around him. Keshaara stopped the flames as soon as Loki was out of her sight, rising from the slight crouch she had dropped into. She waited a moment, to see if Loki would emerge from the flames.

 He did, in fact, do just that, leaping at her in the armor she had seen only in Nchuand-Zel, out of the flames.

 Loki hit her full force in the chest, knocking the air right out of her. With a grunt, she fell to the ground, Loki on top of her. She saw the knife (what was with all the knives) and twisted out of the way of it, grabbing his wrist and punching up into the chin of his helmet with her mailed fist. His head snapped back, and she cocked her fist back again to deliver another punch. Loki caught that one with his hand and twisted her hand brutally.

 She screamed when she felt her elbow dislocate, and her scream fell into a thu’um.

 “Fus _Ro_!” she shouted, her voice cracking in pain.

 The thu’um threw Loki away from her again, and she scrambled to her feet, holding her arm by the elbow. Pain wracked her arm and with a snarl, she shoved her elbow back into its proper place. Loki was quick to recover, snarling and pulling more knives from the air, and spinning magic around his hand. Keshaara drew her axe free with her right hand, and bared her teeth at him.

 There were no words spoken between them, only screeches and snarls. They circled the fire pit, waiting for each other to make the first move. Keshaara decided the first strike was hers, and leapt the fire, swinging her axe for his throat. His knife came up and caught her in the side, and she did not flinch away from it. She used the pain to fuel herself, raising the axe high and crashing it down on Lokil’s neck.

 His entire armor flickered when she made the connection, wisps of magic drawn to the blade of her axe. He was uninjured, but his eyes went wide as she brought her axe up high again. He could clearly see the part of her magic overwhelming his own.

 His armor was a part of his magic, and magic is part of the soul. Her axe was enchanted to trap the souls of those unfortunate enough to come into contact with it. Keshaara’s face was fury, and her battle-lust rivaled Thor’s.

 Loki withdrew his knife and slashed at her face with it, and when that got him nowhere, he threw the knife away and reached up to choke her. His hands fit neatly into the gap in her armor and he pushed both of his thumbs in to the tender dip in between her collarbones. Keshaara dropped her axe and grabbed onto both of Loki’s wrists, trying to pull them down and away from her neck.

 His pushing up was stronger than she could beat by pushing down, so she opted for the secondary option. She spat in his eye, and when he recoiled, she batted both of his hands off her bruised neck and punched him again. She battered him with a single fist, holding her other hand down on his chest to stabilize herself. She had moved to straddle him so that she could better punch him in the face.

 Loki threw her off of him, tossing her to the side. She landed heavily on her side, and scrambled for her axe again. She picked it up and turned to face Loki again, only to have a green bolt of magic hit her square in the stomach. Keshaara doubled over, clutching her gut. It hurt, but her armor had taken the brunt of the attack.

 He was standing, his face bleeding, but his armor whole again. She was no fool though, she knew that what had happened with his armor once could happen again, and she had made the physical armor beneath what he wore magically. She knew where the weak points were and what could and could not be used for her own advantage. She had torn through that magical armor of his once, and she would do it again.

 She spun her axe in her hand, threw it in the air and twisted her magic around her.

 She flung her magic outwards, and it materialized into another rush of fire. She was ash and fire inside and she was not going to let this God defeat her. She had mastered Sheograth’s trials, she had stared insanity in the face and won once, and she was not going to let Loki best her. Not even his madness could top what dwelled within her.

 When the flames abated, she could not see Loki. Her axe thudded back down into her hand. Another spell, and her vision flickered. Life, in all of its glory, was illuminated all around her, and the blue-red throb of Loki’s position was revealed to her. He had skulked off into the forest, retreating to find a tactical advantage. She was reminded of that clone double she had tackled back in Lakeview Manor, and knew that further tricks like that could easily be incoming.

 As she looked around, she was careful not to indicate that she had seen him just yet, Keshaara crouched and drew her bow free from its position in her pouch. Her bow was drawn taught, an arrow already in her grasp. She let arrows fly, twisting her body to the side so she could direct them at the invisible Loki. Advancing slowly and shooting arrows at the bedamned blob of a man, she smiled viciously when she saw flames blossom and heard the grunt of someone struck. She had enchanted her bow for a reason.

 Keshaara drew her axe again and threw that, whipping it over her head. Her spell faded, but she could already clearly see Loki, his armor consumed in a conflagration. His arm still came up to deflect her axe wide, but the enchanted blade did its job. The conjured armor flickered, torn away from his body by the trapping blade.

 She rushed him again, a thu’um starting in the back of her throat, waiting to be released. She wanted to make this man _hurt_. And she would.

 This time, though, she did not tackle him directly, which was what he clearly was expecting. No, moments before she hit him, she jumped, clearing the crouched Loki. She twisted her body in the air so she landed facing him. Before he could turn to face her, she grabbed the back of his armor in a huge bear hug. He struggled against her grip, but he could not get himself turned around fast enough.

 “Wuld _Nah Kest_!”

 Her shout shook birds from their nests and threw them both forward at a blistering pace. A hundred feet later, she and Loki hit the ground hard, driving a deep gouge into the earth. Keshaara stood quickly, and firmly pressed the heel of her boot into his neck as he struggled to rise. To drive the idea home, she _pushed_ her boot down, a sneer on her face. Like everyone else, he was barely worth the effort. Dovahkiin she was born, and Dovahkiin she would always be.

 After a few moments, she relented, lifting her foot and turning to walk away. She needed to find her axe. Eyes on the ground, she could only listen for Loki rising from the ground, spitting dirt from his mouth and throwing his helm to the side to clear the mud from his face.

 “Do you think we are _done_ , Dovahkiin?”

 His voice gave her pause. She turned her head slowly, and beheld the sudden army of Lokis behind her, each an exact forgery of the original, who had regained the ability to summon his astral armor. They were all smiling at her, goading her into action. Loki expected a long, drawn out fight. Keshaara could feel the stab wound in her side starting to ache, and she knew she should tend to it before too long.

 “We are done, Loki. Fighting you proves nothing more than what I already know,” she said tiredly, turning her head back towards the hut, the horses, and food.

 “ **Coward**.”

 There were few words that Nords were used to hearing said about them when it came to battle. Words that fell outside of the range of “bezerker” “warrior” and similar were not often uttered near a Nord, because the risk of receiving the gift of a sword in your belly was much higher.

 Coward, though.

 Coward would always get a response.

 “You misstep, Loki. Retract your words or I will paint the trees with your innards.”

 “You said it yourself, Keshaara. The skies proclaimed me champion tonight. You are coward to back down from this.”

 She turned to face him fully, her eyes scanning the forgeries over as she considered her next words.

 “I would look to the skies again, Loki. The skies are capricious.”

 She would have been deeply disappointed if she found Loki out be seeing which looked skyward to confirm her words. No, all the forgeries remained, smirking directly at her.

 “But if you insist upon completing this fight. I will oblige.”

 The smirks on the copies grew into wicked, toothy, sneers.

 “Yol Toor Shul.”

 The words were offhanded, casual. Keshaara had an innate skill with fire, and she had no fear of it. A conflagration burst from her mouth, bursting forth to scorch the earth, setting trees and bushes ablaze with equal fervor. The forgeries vanished, consumed by fire, and that only left Loki, flinching from the fire again.

 Without her axe, Keshaara only had her magic…and the other seven weapons she had carried in her pack just in case. She was always prepared, and sometimes an axe was not the most practical choice, even though it was the one she had the most skill with. She pulled a huge broadsword free of her pack, and held it steady in her hands.

 Fire danced around them, and sent glimmers of light flashing across the metal of their armor. Loki, scorched and burning _hissed_ at her, spinning a knife in his hands as he circled.

 “What else do you have in store on that tongue of yours, Keshaara?”

 He spat her name out like a curse, which made her smile.

 “Much and more, Loki of Jotunheim. My tongue is a dastardly thing. It spins power and might. I am the voice of storms and the fear of legions. And I kneel before no man.”

 She tensed her shoulders and hefted the huge blade in her hands. Swords were not her usual forte, but it served its purpose. Loki could see that it was not a weapon she was well practiced with, or well comfortable with. To him, it was an advantage.

 Truthfully, though, Keshaara had no intention of swinging this sword even once. She had to wait for her throat to cease its aching. With every soul she absorbed, she grew stronger, so that her thu’ums could come faster and stronger, but there was still a small amount of time to wait before she could roar her fury again.

 He circled, still, pacing left and right, searching for a moment to strike. Keshaara remained relaxed and still, watching him with her citrine-colored eyes. She moved carefully, only tracking her head from side to side to keep him in her view. This time, she was not going to charge Loki. He had seen her do so twice now, and he would expect it.

 Her stillness seemed to enrage him, and he threw the knife at her. Lazily, she blocked the knife wide with her sword, barely flinching at how close the blade came to her.

 Another knife came whistling at her, and the huge sword blocked that as well. With his face smeared with mud, his hair in disarray, he looked every in a madman, and Loki screamed like one too. He rushed her this time, and she had to school herself sternly to not smile. For the first few steps he made, Keshaara kept her sword on guard, deepening her stance as she prepared again.

 When he was halfway close, she relaxed her grip on the sword. When he was but twenty paces from her, she dropped the weapon, and rose tall.

 “Fus Roh,” she started, rearing her head back and holding the final word in her throat. She waited until Loki was mere paces from her and leaned closer to him. His green eyes had gone wide as he realized what words were coming from her mouth, but his momentum was too much to try and dodge. “… _Dah_.”

 The power exploded from her, and caught Loki in a whirlwind of force, throwing him backwards, deeper into the forest.

 Leisurely, Keshaara walked to where Loki had come to rest. He had hit a sturdy tree, and slumped down at the base of it. She removed her own helm, smiling pleasantly at him. He was clearly dazed, blinking rapidly to try and get his swimming vision to clear. Loki did still manage to see her approaching and struggled to get up and continue the fight. His summoned armor, however, had flickered and faded, leaving him only in the armor Keshaara had made for him.

 She said nothing to him, just reached down to grab him by the collar of his armor. As easily as he had lifted her up, she hefted him to his feet and pinned him to the tree. She smiled sweetly at him, leaning in to him.

 “Loki, are you aware that in fights like this, here in Tamriel, the loser is expected to give something to the victor, as a sign of respect? But the victor chooses.”

 “You know very well I am not,” he bit out, shifting uncomfortably. Blood leaked from a few superficial wounds, but he had been clearly rattled.

 “Then I inform you now. I will take what I want from you.”

 He flinched, expecting something foul, and instead, the sweet pressure of her lips met his. Keshaara kissed him tenderly, cupping his face with her gloved hands. Loki froze up, making a panicked sound of confusion deep in his throat. Keshaara hummed at him, pulling away just as softly as she had begun. Her lips tingled from the chill of his body, and it made her grin.

 “Was that enjoyable for you, Loki?” she asked her voice gentle and low.

 Still not seeing straight and contending with a mighty headache, he managed a very slight nod.

 “Good, because there’s not going to be any more of that,” Keshaara snapped. Her gloves vanished, leaving her hands bare, but she dug her fingers into his hair and tightened them cruelly, pulling his hair back to force him to expose his throat.

 She bit him, sinking blunted teeth into the pale column presented to her. Loki screamed, the pain driving away his headache. Still, he could not really move away from her. He…did not want to?

 Keshaara kissed him again, ferocious and demanding. Her teeth bit into his lip until it bled and he opened his mouth to her. She ravaged his mouth with her tongue and he could taste the residue of her thu’um on her breath. Had he been a man to go weak at the knees, he would have. There was passion in the kiss, and he responded in kind, pulling her tight to him. Even though the armor was in the way of feeling her body next to his, he relished this.

 It was a savage, savage kiss. She pulled on his hair, and clawed down his neck hard enough to raise welts. He gasped into the kiss, a sound swallowed by Keshaara, drank down into the drugging kiss. She smiled into the kiss, pulling back a moment to look at Loki, who had the barest dusting of a flush on his cheeks. His face was smeared with dirt, blood dripped from his lip, and there was a new bruise forming in the outline of her teeth on his throat. Even if she was no longer consumed with the bloodlusts of the vampires, Keshaara adored seeing Loki like that. They were both breathing heavily, either from the battle or the kiss, and neither really cared which.

 In sync, they reinstated the kiss, not caring that their teeth hit the others and sent shockwaves through their skulls, or that lips were bleeding. She tore at the armor she had crafted for him, banishing it off of his body and onto the ground. He pushed insistently at the armor she wore as he continued to kiss her, not wanting to stop. Whatever magic she used to control armor the way she did, he did not possess it, but he urged her to banish her own armor, not to leave him standing in a forest, clad in nothing more substantial than underclothes while she stil wore her battle regalia. It was unbecoming, and wrong, and thrilling.

 She chuckled at him and did not oblige immediately. Keshaara pushed his hands away from her, pinning them to the tree behind him and pressing herself close to him.  

 “You _lost_ Loki. You _are_ lost.”

 Her words were whispers, barely audible, and Loki’s only response was to shiver. She kissed him again, her blood and his mingling as they kissed through the wounds of battle. Blood tainted their kiss and the taste only made her kiss him harder.

 When she did finally remove her own armor, leaving her in casual underclothing once again, he sighed audibly and reached for her suddenly narrowed waist. He pulled her flush to his body, and Keshaara could feel how hard he was. She gave an appreciative gasp of her own when he reached down to cup her ass with one hand, and then the other, squeezing the flesh there with a muted grunt of appreciation.

 Her hands crept under his rough shirt, and for the first time, Keshaara got to feel the truth of the skin Loki wore under the magic he had wrought on himself. Scars and ridges she knew she would never see made themselves known to her hands. She flattened her palms against his chest, but as it meant she had to pull away from him she moved her hands to his sides. Their kiss had reverted to near-sweetness, touched with blood and battle-fever, but still...almost sweet.

 Keshaara fixed that when she set her fingernails into the soft flesh over his ribcage and clawed down his sides. He howled into her mouth and she drank his pain in, pulling away from their kiss for just a moment to watch the play of pain across his face. Her eyes were blazing shades of orange and yellow, and his were screwed shut.

 Before Loki even had the chance to fully process the pain, and his welts begin to ooze blood, there was a rush of coolness up his sides and the pain vanished. Loki opened his eyes and Keshaara was standing there, grinning wolfishly at him. Her hands were still on his flesh, and he wanted to be mad at her. He wanted to rage at her, to be furious with her for daring to do what she had done, but he was breathless and aching as he had never really been before. It was pain and then it was aching emptiness from pain, and it set everything in him on edge.

 He did not want her to know that though.

 Loki tilted his head away from her when she came in to kiss him again, and with a barely-there shrug, she dipped her head to kiss his neck. She pressed her teeth into his neck, opening her mouth wide. She bit the deep purple bruise, and Loki flinched again, but moments afterwards, he was groaning again as Keshaara laved the bite mark with her tongue, and went so far as to lick a wet path up his neck so she could bite and suckle the flesh behind his ear as well.

 The moan was halfway out his mouth before he caught it and cut it off.

 “Oh, come now, Loki. You are so proud of your silvered tongue. I want to hear it _undone_ ,” Keshaara whispered in his ear, nipping momentarily at his earlobe.

 He grunted and tried to push her away, not enjoying this game now that he was clearly not going to be the victor.

 “Are you done with this, then?” she purred, bumping her nose into the underside of his jaw, and kissing his throat again.

 She was hard to move when she did not want to be moved, and Loki’s pushing was all but completely ineffective.

 “Yes, I am _done,_ ” he bit back at her, trying to regain the cold steel that was usually the core of his voice.

 Keshaara smiled again, and pushed him back up against the tree. Her hands were still underneath his shirt, despite his best attempt to get her away from him. With deviousness in her eyes, she slid one hand down his pants, grasping Loki’s cock. She drew away from just far enough to watch him react. His head thrashed backwards hard enough to hit the back of his head on the tree and bared his clenched teeth at her.

 She sidled as close as she could manage, keeping her hand on him and languidly stroking his length. Her mouth was open, and her brows were raised and Loki had never felt more scrutinized than he did with this strange woman with one of her hands on his cock in the middle of a forest in a place far from Asgard and Jotunheim and Midgard and all of the Nine Realms, and it shamed him how thrilling it was.

 “You are?”

 Her fingers danced across his skin, and he groaned. Keshaara swooped in to kiss him again, and he could not help the appreciative reaction he gave her, opening his mouth to hers immediately and kissing her soundly. One of his hands reached for her, but he aborted that movement before it could come to fruition. He had to find his center, had to gather his mind and stop all of this. He was not going to be controlled so easily by this woman, even if she had bested him in combat.

 “I **am** ,” he said with an air of finality, forcing his voice back to its normal cadence.

 Loki was not sure what he expected, but it was not for Keshaara to beam at him, crinkle her nose and peppily retreat from him entirely. The sudden absence of her heat (she was so _hot_ against his skin) made him sag, and his confusion must have read in his eyes.

 “Well if that’s all you wanted, then, I’m heading back to camp. Make sure you get all your armor! I’ll see you back there,” she sang at him, waggling the fingers of the hand that had just been down his pants and stroking him. Keshaara had the absolute audacity to wink at him, and then, all at once, she was gone, walking briskly back towards camp.

 Loki was left, supporting himself on a tree, in his underclothes, aching and hard, his lips tingling from the torrid kisses, in the middle of a forest as Keshaara walked away. The urge to call her back, to _beg_ rose in his throat, and disgusted by that desire, Loki clenched his teeth.

 Oh, how he burned inside.

 And far off in the forest, almost all the way back at the campsite, he heard her laugh.


	17. Praan

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

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Keshaara was sitting in front of the fire when Loki stumbled out of the forest, half dressed in his armor, half carrying his armor in his arms. She looked up to him briefly, offered him a small smile, and went back to reading the book in her hands. Still wearing her bloodied underclothes, she did not move from her position, sitting on the ground as Loki approached.

 His armor clattered to the ground as he dropped one of the pieces, perhaps accidentally. It did not take a master mind reader to see that there were words burning Loki’s throat. She smiled pleasantly at the book, but did not look up at him. If he was going to throw another tantrum, she was well prepared for it. The savage knife wound from Loki had been bandaged, but she had not expended any of her waning magicka on healing it immediately.

 “I find myself no longer needing sleep, Loki. The bed is yours for the night.”

 Her words were simple and measured. Loki’s huff of frustration heralded him dropping all of his armor on the ground. Carefully, and slowly, Keshaara looked back up to Loki, the same small smile on her face from before. It looked as if he was considering his words, trying to find the phrases he needed to accurately tell her what he was feeling.

 He settled for muttering something under his breath, in that same language he had spoken when he first arrived. Keshaara quirked an eyebrow at him, but went back to her book, skimming the page to find her place again. There was an odd buzz in the back of her head, but that was hardly unusual. She shook her head to clear it, but the buzz only grew more insistent. It felt nearly like she had been drunk recently, and was coming out of a drunken stupor and sobering up.

 She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to search for what had been causing the feeling, but in between closing her eyes and opening them, Loki had approached her. His green eyes blazed, and a smirk had worked across his face.

 Taking a stab in the dark at what was going on, Keshaara smiled and said: “If you are attempting to cause me to do something, you can just ask. There is no need to try and force my hand when I am willing.”

 Loki blinked, and the buzzing faded from her mind. He had been taken aback, clearly. The cadence of these conversations clearly was not going the way Loki expected, and that made her heart sing glorious tales of destruction.

 “Did you want me to kneel, o God of Mischief?” she asked, sliding off the log she had seated herself on. Her book was closed and placed atop it, and she knelt, smiling broadly at the raven-haired man.

 “Did you want me to lay myself in supplication at your feet and beg?”

 She inclined her back, slowly bowing herself over her knees.

 “Would that please you, High King Loki?”

 Keshaara did not look to Loki then, inclining herself even further. She heard his sharp intake of breath though, and watched his feet make an uncertain shuffle. The smile she wore now was only directed at her knees. Her hands came forward, and she placed them on her thighs. Her bow transformed into an arching stretch for her poor, tight, back muscles, and she lifted her head to Loki again.

 “You should find yourself a nice fat miller then. They love to bow. Very good at that, when they don’t accost you with a saw.”

 She stretched from her kneeling position, twisting her back this way and that, with loud pops and cracks heralding her spine realigning itself. She stood, and went to twist her back again, but a sharp pain lanced through her.

 She gasped, pressing a hand to the knife wound on her side. She had stitched it up and bandaged it as well as she could, but she could feel fresh wetness in between her fingers. Trying to get her breathing under control, Keshaara pushed her hand harshly against her side, but the blood flow was not so easily staunched. Loki had managed to really gore her side soundly. Those knives of his were far more deadly than she had given them credit for being.

 Still, she did not have the magicka reserves to heal herself, and she was absolutely loathe to use any of her potions in haste. She could never know what would happen, and a little knife wound was not anything she needed to worry about. Not as long as she stayed seated. Slowly, she turned to sit again, but Loki’s hand on her elbow stayed her.

 He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away, and in the firelight, her blood looked like gems.

 “Your armor should have protected you.”

 His tone was accusatory and his grip tightened on her wrist, almost to the point of pain.

 “Your knives are sharper than expected, and I did not block the attack,” she offered lamely, pulling her wrist ineffectively to try and free it from his grasp.

 “Then heal yourself.”

 “I cannot. I do not have the strength right now, and I won’t risk a potion on a flesh wound.”

 Loki growled and pulled her arm wide, twisting her to the side so he could see the wound in the firelight. Her underclothes were stained red, but the wound was obscured. He finally released her wrist and pulled the fabric away. The cloth of her clothing stuck in the wound, flesh and linen merged together. Keshaara hissed and shoved him away from her.

 “Leave it! It’s not as if I’ll keel over. I’ve had, and have sustained with worse,” Keshaara snapped.

 The man accosting her sneered at her, and grabbed her by the wrist. He dragged her along behind him, back into the slightly scorched hut, and Keshaara had no choice but to comply. Every insistent tug he made on her hand sent pain stuttering outwards from her wound. Keshaara may be a little cavalier with her health on occasion, but she did not enjoy this sort of pain. Not in the slightest.

 Loki spun her and shoved her at the bed. The low frame caught her calf and she sat quicker than she had anticipated doing. Loki knelt at her feet, clearly cross with her. Green light circled his hands, but it was not the color of a healing spell that danced on his fingertips.

 She recoiled from him, her hand instinctively going to clutch at her wound and twist it further from him. An inarticulate sound of exasperation was all Loki responded with. Rather savagely, he caught her hands together and pushed them over her head. He pinned her to the bed, looming over her and staring down at her.

 “Why do you insist on being so difficult?” he asked, surprisingly pleasantly.

 His tone only made Keshaara irrationally angered at him.

 “Let me up!”

 “Not until you let me fix that wound, _Kesh_.”

 She snarled at the nickname, regretting having given him permission to use it. She struggled against his grip, bucking her hips and kicking. Loki did not move, and waited for her to settle down. Keshaara did only after her vision started to fade at the edges and her breaths only coming in short, labored pants.

 “I don’t trust your magic. It doesn’t look right,” she grit out.

 Loki had the gall to look offended.

 “You said you trusted me.”

 “I said nothing of trusting your magic. Healing spells are gold. Your hands are _green_. Those are not the right colors. That is a calm spell, or worse – a poison. I cannot let yo-…I just am wary.”

 Loki sighed and slid his hand down from pinning hers to the bed to gently cup her face. Green magic swirled around his hands, but there was nothing Keshaara could do. She was not strong enough to shove him away, and he still had magic at his disposal.

 “You should be.”

 His hand clamped over her mouth and as her eyes went wide with shock, he slammed the palm of his other hand into her wound.

 Keshaara’s back bowed off the bed and her eyes rolled. A muffled scream came from behind Loki’s hand as his magic raced across the wound. His magic was not suited for healing, she found. The pain was condensed and amplified all at once and her screams were involuntary. It hurt more than being made and unmade at the altars of Daedra, more than feeling the brunt of a thu’um…and it seemed as if it was not going to end any time soon.

 It took her minutes to recognize that his magic was no longer coursing through her body. Slowly, slowly she relaxed, her screams dying in her throat, leaving her breathless and aching.

 He took his hand away from her mouth, and she batted him away from her, clutching her side and rolling protectively on it. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she still had pride enough that she could not cry.

 “Let me see it, Kesh.”

 She whipped her head around at him and snarled. She was not letting him touch her wound again.

 “Kesh. I need to see it to make sure that my magic did not harm you more than needed. I won’t touch you.”

 If she was not so angry at him, she would have thought his tone nearly apologetic, but as she was nearly apoplectic with rage, she merely found it grating. Hissing, she did as she was asked, knowing it was probably important that he fix anything he had done incorrectly before the scars settled in. She rolled onto her back, lifting her arm so that the scar was visible, but she had distance between her and Loki.

 He tilted his head and surveyed the cleared skin, looking as best he could beneath the blood that still resided on her skin. Nothing appeared broken or out of place, and satisfied, he drew away from her, rocking back on his heels.

 Keshaara glowered at him, but her fingers prodding the wound could find no fault with what had been done, and the ache of injury had faded from her. He had, truly then, healed her. He had just not healed her in any way that would pass muster at the College of Winterhold.

 She muttered a half-felt “thanks” to him before pulling the musty furs of the bed (now spotted with her blood) over her body. Keshaara may not enjoy sleeping, or indulge in it often, but now all she really wanted to do was to sleep through the night and wake up at sun’s rise to carry on. Loki was not at all what she had thought and she found herself drawn to him as much as repulsed by him. He gave with one hand and took with the other, promising truth and lie as if they were equal facts.

 He reminded her of herself.

 And she had never been fond of mirrors.

 Burrowing deeper into the furs, she curled onto her uninjured side and closed her eyes, wondering if sleep was going to come to her at all. There was a soft rustle behind her, and a surprisingly gentle pressure next to her. Loki had climbed into the bed as well, and was mid-wiggle when she opened her eyes to look at him.

 He froze when he felt her gaze on her, waiting for the reaction he knew was incoming. She was not going to take kindly to him being in the same bed as her, for a surety – not after what he had just done. But it did not seem as if she was going to push him out of the bed just yet. Still, he was ready to defend his right to the bed if she looked to kick him out of it.

 “If you are going to heal me again, I am going to teach you the proper way to heal someone,” she grumbled, shifting the furs she was underneath higher on her body.

 “You are healed, are you not? What else is there to do?”

 Keshaara paused for a moment, feeling inwards to get a sense of how much of her magicka had regenerated in the moments since Loki had dragged her inside. One hand wormed its way out from under her blankets, reaching for the deeply split lip she had imparted on the God. As much as she thought the cut gave his ethereal good looks a nice, rough edge to them, it was uncomfortable to have such a wound, she knew.

 The soft golden light of healing touched her fingertips, and gently, she ran her hand across his lips and down his neck, banishing the bruises and cuts from his skin as cleanly as she had ever been able to do.

 “There should be no pain, Loki. That is how things are healed here. No pain, not even if it is a mortal wound.”

 He reached to his lip, touching it as if he could not believe that she had just done that.

 “Did you not just say that you had not the energy to heal yourself? And then you go and waste magic on me?”

 Keshaara rolled her eyes at him, and pulled one of the fur blankets over her head.

 “Mine was a deep wound, passing close to mortal. Your minor abrasions do not take much effort to heal,” was all she said from the comfort of beneath the blankets.

 Loki snorted, but did not say anything to contradict her.

 Sharing the same bed, even though she had just finished throwing him around the forest, and he had just finished healing her in the most painful way possible, seemed odd to Keshaara, but there was no reason she could really find for forcing him to leave. After so long on her own, and a young life that had been spent growing up in a large family unit, sleeping with or near others was something of a comfort for her, even if she had minor squabbles with those in proximity to her.

 Loki did not seem as if he was going to try and accost her again, and beneath the blankets, her fingers still ran over the smooth skin where his knife had flayed her open, searching for any sort of misplaced wound or bone. She found none, and that settled her further. The cloying thought of sleep consumed her, and ever so carefully, she allowed herself to settle into the smallest of Oblivions, hoping that the Daedra would leave her sleeping time alone.

 Loki, for his part, watched her breathing settle into a deep and even pattern, wondering why she had decided to let him stay, and pondering trickery. Even if they shared the same furs, she had made it clear that she did not truly want him near her. He had not known his healing spell would hurt her so much, but he did not regret healing her. Because for a moment, just that brief, flash of a moment, he had _seen_ inside of her, looking deep into the depths of this Dovahkiin.

 There was a smile on his face as he allowed himself to fall into a state of sleep.

 Yes, he had seen, and now he knew.


	18. Bex

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

Keshaara woke up slowly. There was the comfortable, suffusing, muzzy warmth of sleep still buzzing in her mind, and the sensation of being close to another. These were all things that made her feel relaxed, if nothing else. It was a reminder of home, of a place far away that she would never see again, a place now littered with bones and doused in death. But in this moment, it was just home, again.

 “<It is time to wake, little Keshaara.>”

 It was the voice of her dreams, of a time long abandoned, and Keshaara mumbled a response in the tongue of the Dunmer, answering in kind to the voice that had roused her.

 “<A few more minutes, ada.>”

 There was a short, self-satisfied laugh from next to her. That did not belong in her home - that was not the voice of her mothers or her fathers or her sons or daughters. Startled, she woke all at once, flinching and shaking herself to full awareness. Green eyes were but inches from her face, lit with mischief and laughter.

 For a brief moment, she was furious, and fully captured in the rage of whatever he had done to her. She could feel his hand on her side, rubbing over where his knife had stabbed into her, and he was smirking at her. He wanted to see her reaction.

 He would get a reaction.

 Because her fury faded, replaced with the memories of what had driven her into Skyrim, the horrid sight of her family…

 She pushed his hand off her side and carefully extricated herself from the bed, embracing the sharp coldness of a morning in Skyrim. Keshaara re-garbed herself in the same black armor she had worn the day before. The mask hung at her neck, not pulled up over her mouth just yet. Her eyes were brimming with sadness. Keshaara tried so hard to not remember what had happened, not to recall why she was in Skryim, so far from the ash and fire she had loved as a child.

 But she said nothing to Loki. If he had known enough of her, if he had done something to find those words, it meant nothing to her. She knew that he had done something, but right then, she did not really care to know what it was. If she tried to speak, her feelings would rush out of her in one massive rush. And honestly, she did not want Loki to know how deep he had cut with those few words. If he thought it was some game that he hurt her so, then she would play the same game. Anyone who had played such games before knew that you never let the other see how deep the wound went until you were well and ready to cut back.

 Loki had turned in the bed to look at her, the cocky grin still on his face. He expected something. He had seen how the hurt had flickered in her eyes, and watched her body language. Keshaara knew she had given away too much, but there was no taking back what she had shown him.

 “We must leave. The sun is higher than I thought it would be. We are losing time. Garb yourself in armor, I have a nearby cairn to clear as a courtesy to others, and when I am done, we can leave. Keep mindful watch of the horses.”

 She pulled her mask up, checked her hip for her axe, and left the hut. Loki, for his worth, scrambled after her. He rushed to where he had tossed the armor she had made for him, hurrying to get it on. He knew how to dress himself quickly, and even if the armor was still unfamiliar to him, he was readied and following behind her, quickly closing the gap between them.

 “I believe I said you were to stay and watch the horses, Loki. I will be but an hour or so. The draugr are not much botherance. Stay with Shadowmere and Frost. They should protect you if the need arises.”

 Keshaara walked and spoke stiffly, striking out into the forest, past where they had fought, not bothering to give Loki even the barest of looks over her shoulder.

 “I am coming with you,” he insisted.

 “Why, so I can be struck down as in Nchuand-Zel again? I think not. Stay or I will make you stay.”

 Her voice had the snap of authority, and Loki was well known to not kowtow so easily to superiors.

 “I am not leaving you to go somewhere alone, Keshaara. You are my only chance out of this world and if you die-”

 She whirled on him, spinning so quickly to face him that he was honestly taken aback. Her eyes were orange and golden flames, and it was impossible to read anything but fury in them.

 “If I die, the whole world burns, regardless. Do you _really_ think that I will allow myself to die when Alduin draws ever closer? Do you think that I would allow myself the sweet release to a Daedra’s realm? Have you learned nothing from your snooping in my mind, Loki? _I will not die_.”

 Her words were laced with venom and crackled with power.

 “But if you are so insistent upon being a pebble in my boot, then by all means, accompany me and endanger my life again. I do so enjoy being poisoned and frostbitten because I have to protect someone who could not listen to my ordinances. You and I both know how you crave to see the mighty fall. Come, watch me. I’m sure it will be outstandingly entertaining for a God to watch a mortal falter. Perhaps the draugr will manage to nearly sever my ear again. That was passing _fun_.”

 She turned away just as sharply as she had faced him, a low growl rumbling in the back of her throat. Her strides lengthened, and she walked with brisk intent and purpose, not bothering to look back at Loki, who had stopped in his tracks, and followed her no further.

 It would be hours before he heard her walk back towards the camp. The sun was high in the sky, and he was _not_ sulking and waiting for her to walk back. He just had to watch for her to return so that they could carry on to the place of Winter she had mentioned. He had tended the fire when it grew dim, and bungled around in the packs she had loaded onto Frost, checking for anything interesting.

 Nothing readily came to his attention, so he sat where Keshaara had been reading the night before. Checking the surroundings carefully, he reached into his jacket for the papers he had stolen from her. Smoothing the folds out over his knee, he was again assaulted by the blue-skinned Jotun woman that Keshaara had been. From his blood, she had turned from what she was to what he was, and he was still fascinated by that. Gently, he traced his fingers down the curve of her face.

 Almost in sympathy, his skin flickered the same, deep blue color, but he did not allow it to stay that color for long. It was only on her that he found it entrancing. She had captured his attention. Jotuns…he had never seen a female Jotun before. He had only seen those of his kind in battle, and never, never taken the time to study himself as she had. She had, in the few nights that she had looked like him, captured things he had never seen before.

 The markings of the Jotun looked stunning on her. He knew but a few things of the meanings behind the markings the Jotun, and she wore a Queen’s Crown in her flesh. _She would_ , he thought ruefully, know that as Laufey’s son, he had the markings of a King. He had been born, twice over, to be King. His blood gave him the right, but Keshaara had no right as he did. She was, to her tale, just some no one from a place far from here. Dovahkiin, or not.

 He flipped to a different page, studying her naked form with all the lecherous intent he could muster. Even when cloaked in the skin of frost giant’s, Keshaara had a pleasing form to his eye. She was strong and well-built. Muscles outlined her body, pulling her stomach in, giving her slender waist curve and definition, her long legs the lean musculature that many would envy. She was a beautiful woman.

 Loki had always had an eye for beauty, something Thor and the Warriors Three could never really understand. He was often called ‘magpie’ for his love of things that sparkled and glittered, but beauty was more than shimmering gold and gems, beauty was in books and, yes, in the shape and form of mortal things. Keshaara qualified as beautiful, even as a Jotun woman.

 Her drawing had left nothing to the imagination. She had captured every inch of her naked form in detail, from the dusky blue of her nipples, to the tangle of dark curls in between her legs. The scars – the _markings_ that danced across her body were rife with meaning. Even as a Jotun, she was a woman marked for glory. Her markings would have made her a champion, a worthy consort to a Prince.

 The thought…how different life would have been if she had been born a Jotun, and he never taken from Laufey…she would have been, they would have been…

 He had to swallow a sudden uneasiness in his throat. An uncommon heat had built within him, and he had to quickly put the papers back into his jacket when he heard someone approaching.

 It was Keshaara, still in that midnight black armor she had worn as she walked away, and she had a –

 “Is that…is that a bear?” he asked, looking at the great beast draped over her shoulders.

 Keshaara shrugged the creature off her back, and it became quickly clear that it was not. No, it was some large cat.

 “It’s a saber cat. Furs on these guys are mighty warm, and fetch a great price,” Keshaara said blandly, a thin blade dancing in her hands. The creature was already dead, and she quickly had the fur stripped off of its carcass. The meat was portioned out next, stacked atop the fur.

 Loki could only watch as she stripped the animal bare, and with a wave of her hand, banished all of the meat and fur away, into her ever-present pouch.

 “Mount up. We’ll ride through the night. It’s a full hunter’s moon tonight, so we’ll be safer than any other night.”

 Keshaara pulled her mask down and smiled crookedly at Loki. There was a blank, vacant look in her gaze, a sort of mental absence that he did not think was entirely natural for her.

 “Kesh…Kesh are you drunk?” he asked as she smirked at him and mounted Shadowmere.

 “Not nearly as much as I want to be, but sure. Found some old mead down in the cairn, drank some old mead, drank some of my own mead. It makes dealing with draugr and annoyances much more palatable.”

 He followed behind her, mounting Frost and nudging the horse to follow her. She did not seem to be too inebriated, just enough for her body to relax and move without that tenseness from earlier in the day.

 For a while, there was silence. Keshaara rode ahead of him, just as she had done for most of the day prior. Her eyes were on the road, and she did not spare a backwards glance to him at all. Loki allowed the silence, studying her back carefully. In the morning, he was sure she was going to strike him, but instead she brushed him off, and when pushed, she had snapped at him so he would stay behind. What had happened in that cairn, he did not know, and it did not seem as if she was going to share with him.

 “Keshaara, shall we…play the game of questions again?”

 An uncommon feeling of guilt had welled up inside of him, and he wanted to make it go away. He was not used to feeling guilt for what he had done. He was not even sure if it was guilt he felt. There was, however, an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, like a rough and heavy stone at the bottom of his lungs. He had never felt this, in all his years of snooping.

 “Are you going to follow the rules, Loki?” she replied, looking to the trees that framed the road they were on.

 “I will, I promise.”

 “Yes, well we both know what your promises mean. You may have the honor of the first question.”

 Loki had the decency to flush in shame. Not that Keshaara saw. She was still looking forward, swaying slightly in Shadowmere’s saddle. He could only watch as she pulled another flagon of mead from her pouch and started drinking that.

 “Tell me more about Morrowind.”

 “That’s not a question,” she snapped.

 “Will you please tell me more about where you grew up?” he asked.

 Keshaara finished the mead she held in her hand and threw the bottle to the side uncaringly.

 “Morrowind is a place of ash and fires. A volcano belches heat and lava every day, and the entire place is a wasteland. I grew up nearer to Skyrim than most, close to the border, where the ash is less, and the fires are few. Life was tough, and my family had to scavenge what we could from every place we went through. We were tough, and we survived. There are many people who will never be able to say that.”

 The Dovahkiin spoke only to the air in front of her, and Loki gently urged Frost to walk beside Shadowmere, to facilitate better communication.

 “What does it mean, when you say you are Jotun?”

 Loki frowned at her.

 “Jotun is the word for ‘frost giant’. Jotuns are considered monsters by the rest of the Nine Realms. There is not much more to say than that. I was born a Jotun, and I was stolen by the conquering army of the Aesir, and raised as one of them. It was not until I was much older that I found out what I was.”

 “You seem short for a giant. We have giants here. Much taller than your scrawny ass.”

 “I was a runt.”

 Keshaara snorted, but said nothing more. She had no further comment.

 “Why did you come to Skyrim?”

 “It was not by choice. One of my mothers was ill, and there is a flower that grows here that one of my sons could use to make a philter to heal her. I was not elected to go – I was specifically barred from going, but as we drew close to the border, we were found out. My fathers tried to fight, and everyone was killed. I escaped, but I was captured crossing the border and sent to be executed. So…I did not really ever come to Skyrim. I was brought. Why does the sight of your own flesh revile you so?”

 Loki sneered at the question. She was playing the game, then. Every probing question he asked, she would have an answer to. But if he refused to answer, she could duck out of questions herself. He steeled himself against her questions.

 “Because it reminds me that I was raised to hate the Jotun, and in the end, I can only hate myself. I am the prince of the Jotun, and a prince of their conquerors.”

 “So, you are prince twice over, and twice tortured. I am sorry for that much.”

 Keshaara still did not look to him, her cold gaze directed straight ahead. Idly, one of her hands reached for her pack again, as if she were considering another drink. The mead and ale had a pleasant effect on the wounds Loki was picking open, and talking about what had burdened her for so long did feel the slightest bit better. No one had ever asked her any of the questions he had asked her, and even if she knew he was going to use her secrets against her.

 “Why do you stay, if this is not what you want?”

 At that, Keshaara laughed bitterly.

 “I cannot leave. Skyrim owns me as neatly as I own Frost. I cannot cross the borders out of this country. I cannot go home to see if my family still lives, even in a broken state. I am bound to Skyrim, from now unto my death, the Dovahkiin – the protector and defender of Skyrim. Once I was brought across the border, my fate was sealed.”

 Loki studied her as she spoke, not caring to pay attention to the slightest twinge his heart gave at her words.

 “You are trapped. Here. You have no…freedom.”

 “Just so, Loki.”

 There was silence between them for a long while, as Keshaara stared forward, and Loki stole glances at her from the corner of his eye. Knowing that he should look for sorrow, he found it, in how the corners of her eyes were tight, and her shoulders low. With her mask in place, he could not see any more, but he did not need to see the twist of her mouth to know that she was, as she had ever been, mourning.

 “We are similar, you and I. In a way,” he offered after the silence had stretched on too long.

 Keshaara snorted.

 “Yes, and again, a Prince deigns to compare themselves to me. Your tale must truly be worse than being adopted by the King of a realm for you to try and compare being raised Prince twice over to losing your entire family, your home and everything you knew, only to be forced to bend to the whim of dragons and destiny, then. I am halfway curious to hear it. Why did you speak in the tongue of dunmer to me?”

 Loki paused a moment, looking out to the forest that surrounded them. He knew that she was speaking of what he had said to her that morning, but he did not know the meaning of the words he had said. Only that they were the words that she guarded most fiercely at her heart. He had intended to hurt her, to cut her deeper than his knife had, because she had made mockery of him in both magic and might, and he had hoped that it would unnerve her. It clearly had – and he was getting much more of a reaction from her than he had expected, but the victory seemed tainted, somehow.

 “I wanted to see you react to it. I do not know the words -”

 “Save that they mean much to me. Yes, I had assumed so. I had felt something in my mind, and had hoped you would not have been so crass to delve into what I keep in the privacy of my thoughts.”

 She had a skill for chastisement. He settled for making a soft humming sound of acknowledgement. She had not said anything further.

 “What…did I say?”

 “You asked me, as my fathers had many times before, to wake up, calling me ‘little Keshaara’, the grandest term of endearment any of my fathers gave me. Those are some of the few words I remember my fathers speaking to me.”

 Loki’s eyes widened as she spoke. She turned her head to look at him, her eyes narrowed.

 “So if you had angled to hurt me, you did just that. You have reminded me that my fathers are dead. And my mothers. And my sons and daughters and my brothers and sisters. Do you feel accomplished in doing that?”

 He  could not lie, by the rules of the game.

 “Yes.”


	19. Grohiik

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

To her credit, Keshaara did not draw a weapon on him, or hiss a curse or anything else. She stared at him for a long few moments, and Loki held her stare, his chin jutted up in defiance. If she expected remorse, she would find none in him.

 But she did not say anything, just watched him carefully. Waiting. It was his turn to ask a question of her, and she was not going to speak out of turn. She was, however, going to watch him carefully. Her gaze was still and cold, and expectant.

 “Are you upset with me?”

 “Yes, in a way. I do not like thinking about what happened. You have reminded me that I am alone. You remind me of many things, and it seems that you take pleasure in them all. Is it funny to you, to make me hurt like this?”

 Loki blinked.

 “No. It is not humorous. It is…interesting. I want to see how you react.”

 “You are a manipulator then, seeking to use someone’s weakness against them, even outside of battle.”

 “Yes. Are you going to strike me?” he asked, looking to the axe on her hip.

 “No. You are still my guest. I will do no physical harm to you for your words. If you attack me, I will defend myself and make you taste the earth again. That is all. Do you seek that sort of reaction?”

 Loki shifted in the saddle.

 “I do not know. I have never thought of why. In the beginning, it was to show my…it was to show Thor and his friends that I, too, was strong and I could be of use, but now…it is a part of who I am.”

 Keshaara did not ask him who Thor was, or who the friends were. That would be breaking the laws of the game, but she watched him as he spoke.

 “And I don’t know why I am telling you this, mortal. I am a God, and you are-”

 “Beneath you, yes, I have heard it before. I am beneath the Gods, the Princes, the Thanes and the Jarls. I am beneath a lot of things, but still, I think, in charge of keeping all of you alive.”

 “You are _frustrating_ ,” Loki finished, setting his head haughtily high. Keshaara did not respond.

 As they had talked, the skies had begun to darken into night, though, as Keshaara had said they would, they kept on. No one else was on the roads, and Keshaara was not displaying any signs of being concerned for what was going to be in the night tonight.

 “Why are we travelling through tonight, and not last night?” he asked, changing the subject.

 “Because it is a hunter’s moon, and no one who is smart walks the roads tonight. There are werewolves out and most travelers do not want to meet a werewolf in the darkness. I really do not fear. The wolves and I have no quarrel. Not anymore. Are you afraid of the big bad wolves, Loki?”

 There was jest in her voice, a lighthearted joke that he did not understand. She was asking a question that was not the question formed by her words. He knew that much, but he did not know enough about her, or this Skyrim to guess the hidden question.

 “No. I have no fear of wolves.”

 “Oh that is good, because they are closer than you think.”

 “What…what do you mean?”

 Keshaara pulled her mask down, smiling broadly at him. She threw her head back, and howled, her voice rising to the moon. All around them, in the dense forest and out further than that, answering howls echoed. Wolves and werewolves all responded in kind, howling hello to their sister.

 “I mean, they are closer than they seem.”

 Her eyes were nearly glowing in the moonlight, and the smile on her face was predatory.

 He opened his mouth to question her, but quickly snapped his mouth shut when Keshaara quirked an eyebrow at him, reminding him of the game they were playing. She pulled her mask up over her face again, humming happily under her breath. That, for some reason, unnerved him deeply. She was doing this on purpose, he was sure, but he did not know what, exactly, she was doing.

 “Do you have skinchangers back at home, Loki?”

 “We…we have berserkir, yes. Skin-wearers who charge madly into battle.”

 “They do sound similar to us then,” she said ruefully, looking to the large moon overhead.

 “Are…are you berserkir?” he asked hesitantly, unsure if the answer was something he wanted to know. She had made allusion to a hidden secret, and had displayed a few animistic qualities that he did not know what to make of. Perhaps she was just odd, perhaps…

 “I am promised to Hircine’s wolves, yes. Hircine, Daedric Prince of the Hunt, who is responsible for the skinchangers, the weres we have in Skyrim and Tamriel. To protect myself from all but the royal lineage of vampires, I took Hircine’s skins for my own. So yes. In a way, I am beserkir, I suppose.”

 Loki gaped at her. She has sobered long ago, but there was that strange wildness in her eyes, an animal just beneath her skin. He could see it now, running in the veins, thundering in her voice. Keshaara leaned towards him, drawing as close to him as she could while still sitting astride Shadowmere. She reined the horse in, and Loki followed suit.

 “I will break my own rules just this once, Loki. And ask again: Are you afraid, of the big,” she dismounted, her body bulging beneath her armor. “…Bad.” She advanced on him, Frost dancing out of the way as she grew up and out, fur rushing out over her body, her face lengthening into a wolf’s maw.

 “ _Wolf?”_ she growled, her voice low and gravelly. As a werewolf, she was easily taller than the mounted Loki, leaning down over him. Her breath was fetid, and hot, but Loki knew better than to shy away. In this form, she was monstrous, she was terrifying and unholy, and all things terrible.

 When she opened her mouth, there were more teeth in her mouth than he thought possible, all of them sharp and elongated and deadly. She drew close to him slowly, her great clawed hands coming up to reach for his body. It looked as if one of her claws could completely encircle his entire body, and having both reach for him was unnerving.

 But the great beast withdrew, shrinking and taking the familiar form of Keshaara once again. She shook her head, humming still, and now oddly more relaxed than she had been. It was as if a weight had been lifted from her, and she felt comfortable being in her human skin. She remounted Shadowmere and nudged the great horse forward again.

 “You are a berserkr.”

“I am a were, that is different.”

 “Why did you show me that? You made it clear you were uncomfortable with that aspect of you, and you did that for no reason.”

 “There was a reason, fear not. My scent is on the air, and the wolves are all aware that I am around. The other werewolves will not bother us, and I will not accidentally transform and eat you alive. You would have found out anyway, since you have a tendency to pry, and you did, after all, ask me a question. I answer everything honestly, even if I do not want to.”

 She leaned back towards him, grinning lecherously behind her mask. He could not help but watch her eyes rove his body in an entirely inappropriate manner. Her eyes traced every inch of him in a maddeningly slow dance up his body, from his boots, all the way to the crown of his head. A satisfied smirk twisted at her lips as she finished, and the same mischief glittered in her eyes once again.

 “Of a curiosity, Loki, did you _enjoy_ last night? That part when I had you pinned up against that tree with your blood on my teeth and my hand wrapped around your throbbing, hard, cock was my favorite. Your body felt so wonderful pressed to mine, and your hands on my body was just, ah, _brilliant_. It almost made that whole tiff and the knifing worth it. But I am curious if you enjoyed it…and are willing to admit it.”

 Loki flushed, and the darkness was his only salvation. Because yes, he did…he did like it. He loved every second of her brutal ministrations, the way her fingers had woven into his hair and pulled, and her hand had wrapped around him and by the Nines, her skin had practically burned him. He should retaliate, he knew, but for just a moment, he was caught up in the sensations. He was no blushing maiden, he had lain with a fair few beings, but the way Keshaara was so blunt about it was intriguing. And frustrating.

 “Yes, Keshaara. I enjoyed it. I especially enjoyed the part when you-”

 “Oh, don’t ruin the surprise, Loki. It’ll make figuring out what actually makes your tongue wag in pleasure that much more fun for me next time.”

 Part of his mind shut off at that. Had he heard her correctly? She was propositioning him? She _was_ propositioning him. Not that he felt that he should be too surprised, as this was a woman who had made no secrets about how much desire she had in her. He had seen many things, and taken many willing partners to bed, but this woman…this woman was taunting him in a way that he had not encountered in a long time. She was eager, and eager for him – openly. Openly.

 The thought of open – _open_ eagerness for him. Unabashed desire directed at him. He, he liked that. He liked the thought of someone wanting him just for him, absent of political or social machinations. It had been many years since such an opportunity had presented himself, and many years longer that he had trusted anything to be truly without ulterior motic. And Keshaara, apparently, did not have any motive at all. She was a woman of desires, for a surity. Her mercurial temper, her ease of talking, and then her stiffness and withdrawn nature, all of it was a dizzying combination of femaleness. Absentmindedly, his hand came up to the pocket on his jacket where he had stashed the stolen drawings of Keshaara.

 “Next time, Keshaara? I do not suppose I have a say, do I.”

 She laughed.

 “Oh, but Loki, I was under the impression it was you that was so desperate for ‘next time’. I have barely even begun to try and tempt you into bed with me, but if you wish to be wooed, I can oblige you. I am not so unskilled in the ways of words as to not know how to flatter someone into my bed.”

 She brushed the hood off her head and pulled her mask down again. She smiled at him, turning her head slightly.

 “Because, Loki, I do so enjoy the thought of being with you, however you come to me. Your skin, be it pale or blue, is lovely to behold. It is without match in all of Tamriel, in either color. Such a pale canvas, and then a direct contrast in the ferocity and deep blue of the other. Your face is handsome, your body fine. I have seen the markings on your skin but a few times, and my fingers do ache to trace them all. They are all, utterly entrancing. I do not suppose you have taken the time to truly outline all of the marks you possess, as some may be in awkward positions for one person to reach, but I would take any opportunity freely given to trace every last line of your frame, with my fingers, or my tongue, to better taste the winter that lives in your skin. You smell like...frost, like coldest of winters, and the deep, snowy wetness of air. Your scent is heavy on my tongue and settles deep in my lungs, and though I know it is the oil I rubbed into your hair that makes you smell of junipers, I cannot think of a more appropriate smell for one such as you.”

 Loki’s flush grew all the deeper, and he rubbed the reins between his fingers. He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, and Keshaara only continued her diatribe. She had found a weak point, and unlike him, who thrived on throwing pain in the face of others, she seemed to have turned towards uncomfortable observations that made his collar feel hot and sitting in a saddle…complicated.

 “I don’t think enough people have actually complimented you, Loki. Honestly complimented, I mean. No one has told you how pleasing the shade of green of your eyes are, have they? How they glitter like emeralds and peridot, how stunning they are in the light of the moon, or reflected in fire. You, of course, take pride in the color of your eyes. I can tell by how you outfitted yourself. Choosing colors that deliberately played up the sharp angles of your face, contrasting with the smooth curves of your armor. How you chose a palate of colors that do everything possible to impose a deliciously perfect exterior. Your hair, from experience, is so soft and runs like silk through one's fingers. It is the color of fire-touched obsidian, a rare shade of black that should make all who behold it suffer its beauty. Perhaps others have made mention of your lips, how the curves and dips of them are enough to distract even the most holy of temple priests, how they would look pressed to skin, or made ponderance of how they would feel. I suppose I am lucky then, to have felt them so close on my own.”

 He really did not want to admit the way her words worked into him, or how she was the only one to have ever said such things and have no taste of lies on her tongue.

 “Do they ever tire of the lies on your tongue, and seek to silence them with a kiss thorough enough to leave you breathless? Or do they silence you with gentle touches elsewhere on your skin. Your hands are made to be caressed, did you know that? Your fingers are long and delicate, perfect for casting the complex magics of our realm, and anyone worth any amount of time in the bedroom would undoubtedly have spent hours contenting themselves with stroking those fine digits, and rubbing circles on your wrists. Your body, I think, has suffered long without the comfort of another to do proper homage to it.”

 “You ask questions out of turn, Keshaara,” he offered in response, swallowing a thick knot in his throat. “I believe that means I win the game.”

She had, in fact, been doing just that, asking questions as merely a part of her speech. But for him to only comment on that was...rather telling. 

 “Oh no, no, no, no, Loki. The game is never won; you are merely allowed punishments against those that break the rules. I have broken the rules. I do wonder what you will content yourself with doing to me.”

 Her smile (always with her smile) was not one of devious intent, but casual, and calm interest. She had meant everything she said. She was Dovahkiin, after all – languages came naturally to her, and finding what made people squirm was one of her most charming attributes. Keshaara has spent more than enough time trading with shopkeepers all over Tamriel to know how to be absolutely charming when she needed to be.

 Loki, for his part, was stuck sitting in a saddle, uncomfortable and far too warm, listening to Keshaara outline why she found him to be attractive, and unable to really fire anything back.

 She had the uncommon ability to do exactly what he did not expect, despite his best efforts to truly needle her, she seemed to always return his words in such a way that he felt shamed for what he had done. Loki was not used to feeling shame, or remorse. Not for his wordplay. He was silvertongue, but he was rather thinking that Keshaara’s tongue may turn out to be tempered gold.

 So, until the sun rose, he allowed there to be silence. He had much to wrestle with.


	20. Dez

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

Keshaara was mid-snack when he chanced a look at her. She turned her head to regard him properly. This time she did not smile, merely looked at him as she nibbled on honeycomb. There was an apple in her other hand, and it did not appear as if she was going to share.

 Loki’s stomach gave a sympathetic grumble, and Keshaara smirked.

 “Pack on your left. There is food there.”

 Loki huffed indignantly, but reached for the pack Keshaara had pointed to. True to her word, it was full to bursting with food – cooked meats, fruits, vegetables, bread and pastries. He plucked out a few things that looked worthwhile, and started eating as well. The food all tasted like earth. Not like dirt, but it tasted of mortality. It lacked the bright overtones of the food of Asgard, but it was filling, and it settled his stomach.

 “Thank you, Keshaara. Will we be camping again tonight?”

 “No. There is a town on our path that we will stay at. They have a lovely inn, and the keeper there is quite fond of me so I will not have to dip too far into my reserves of money. The blacksmith will purchase the jewelries I have made, which will help, and I can pick up a few more furs. Winterhold is particularly nasty this time of year, and my room at the College is drafty, despite all of my best efforts to stop it. I hate the cold up there. As you are Frost Giant, I take it that the cold does not bother you?”

 Loki glared at her. He had an out, but it there was a better option than just refusing to answer her questions.

 “You are correct, but I do not want to be asked any more questions about who I am. That is the punishment I choose for this game.”

 “Just so, then.”

 In the distance, patches of snow could be seen, and the air had taken a turn towards true chill. Keshaara sniffed, suppressing a shiver. She was far more cold tolerant than others, as she was a Nord. But still, the cold could only be withstood for so long. Once it worked into her bones, it took weeks for it to get out.

 “Keshaara, does the cold bother you?”

 “Not as much as others, but after a while, it works into me and I grow tired of it. I far prefer to be warm. Morrowind…Morrowind was not always warm, but I had my family around me. We would sleep in the same pile of furs with our siblings, and that would keep us warm.”

 She tucked her hair into the collar of her hood before pulling it up, trying to stave off the cold as long as she could. Winds had begun to whistle down from the north, with small flakes of ice and snow on them. One landed on the tip of her nose, and Keshaara huffed at it, turning it to a cold droplet of water.

 “Do you have siblings?” She saw the look Loki gave her and quickly added on: “This is not a question about _you_ , Loki, it is about _them_ and if they exist or not.”

 “No, I have no natural-born siblings.”

 “You’re lying to me. That breaks the rules - no lying. Siblings are not only just those who were born to your blood mother, parents are not just delineated by blood, blood is not where family ends, only where it sometimes starts. My family was a family group of elders, peers and younglings. All my elders were my parents, all of my peers were my siblings, and the younglings were my children. I had many mothers and many fathers, and they all raised me. I do not know if any of them were ever actually blood related to me, or if the woman who carried me in her womb was ever a part of their family. But they were my family,” Keshaara said sharply.

 “I have one who would call himself my brother. His name is Thor,” Loki snapped, not liking how her uncomfortable talk of her family made him ache in memory of what had been his. But he had no family. He only had captors and jailers. He only had…

 Loki shook his head, and dismissed the thoughts that had bothered him.

 “Why are you so curious about me?”

 “Because I am a curious being. I like learning about people, because every person has a different story and everyone assumes they are the hero of everyone’s story. Have you ever heard the term sonder?”

 “No, I cannot say that I have ever been exposed to that word.”

 “It is the word, here, at least, that speaks of that moment when you recognize everyone around you has their own real lives, with hopes and dreams and desires that you may never know. That every person ha trials and tribulations that you will never hear of, that some of them could carry pains you will never know of. It is kin to the feeling of empathy, but it goes so much deeper than that. It is being able to look at anyone around you and recognize that it is impossible for you to know the totality of that being’s _being_ , and how utterly fascinating that is.”

 Loki was taken aback.

 “This…this is something common?”

 “Not common, no, but it is an interesting word, and you seemed intent upon distancing yourself from the family that once surrounded you.”

 She turned her head to look at him, a single eyebrow raised.

 “But, yes, you did not want to talk about that. Did you happen to…well, did you have any other reason to distance yourself from your family, excepting their lie about your lineage?”

 There were long minutes of silence as Loki considered her question. Anger had bubbled up under his skin again, impotent and wrathful. Keshaara was dancing around his rule, but still prodding the line.

 “I do not want to answer that.”

 “As is your right, but you are running short of questions to evade. Your turn to ask, then.”

 “I do not have anything to ask of you right now, I guess. I am tired of the game, and I rather think that I have learned quite enough of you, Keshaara of the beastly skin.”

 He had meant the last words to irritate her, to cause her some sort of pain. But Keshaara did not react. She kept her eyes on the road, one of the fine muscles of her face twitching slightly.

 “I am not alone in wearing a beastly skin. But I accept mine, which is far more than you can say. You would hide your skin, your real skin, from the entire world, because you are convinced that your monstrosity is unbecoming. You, whose monstrosity is stunning blue skin, red eyes that pierce the night, and scars that would entrance even the most jaded night-walker, you are convinced you are truly horrid. You have seen me, berserkr, a wolf-man, a monster by all counts of this realm. I have been vampire as well, a horrid creature of bloodlust and desire, and even when I am not fully infected…well you saw what I can be. But yes, of course, you suffer more because you are attractive in both forms. You are Prince twice over. Yes, of course.”

 She spoke with the tonality of someone who was truly uninterested in the conversation, flicking a hand back over her shoulder as she neared the end of her short diatribe. Loki was certainly grating on her nerves now. He definitively wanted to make her react, and though she knew she should not be so petty as to rise to his jeers, the inherent hypocrisy of his words made her mad.

 Keshaara had had to deal with all of those things without anyone to support her, but Loki had still had family all around him. Loki had no reason to sit and bemoan his circumstances when his monstrosity was just beauty.

 “You know nothing of what it means to be Jotun. What it means to be a sorcerer. What any of my life means, and yet you sit there and profess understanding. How dare you?” he growled at her.

 She also had had time to grow accustomed to how his voice would drop in tone and take on a menacing undercurrent whenever someone got too close to the truth, and it stopped being intimidating.

 “I am _Dovahkiin_. If you think I have the mental capacity to care for every sob story that is thrown at my feet, you are two and a half years too late. You are a Prince, twice. You contain the unrestrained beauty of Daedra and Aedra. You have a _family_. You came into Skyrim, and you will be leaving it, with my help. Oh, _so_ terrible.”

 “My _family_ denied me my birthright, and hid my true self from me. They made me think that I could be King of Asgard, but it was all a lie. I deserve that throne, I deserve to rule, and I will rule again. I will rule Asgard, and Midgard and all of the Nine Realms because I am _meant_ to rule, and they are meant to be ruled. There is no one better than I.”

 Keshaara snorted, and that quickly devolved into laughter. Loki stared at her, aghast. No one had ever dared to laugh at him. His magic curled around him, and he considered striking her down for her impudence.

 “For such a mighty King, you ate a heaping mouthful of loam not two nights ago. You are not worthy of the crown. Not yet. Your ambition blinds you. You focus only on what has been taken from you, and ignore the gifts that you have received,” Keshaara said casually, her eyes still forward. She could only see him in her periphery, but his frown was certainly deepening.

 “I am _meant_ to be King! I _must_ be King!”

 “And you are throwing a tantrum like a child.”

 He snarled, whipping his head around to glare at her. Keshaara, ever placid, kept her gaze forward, and rode on, appearing to be completely and totally calm.

 “I _must_ be King, Keshaara. The safety of the Nine Realms depends on it. There are dark things brewing in the abyss and if I am not there, there will be bloody massacre.”

 “So to prove your viability as King, you throw fits when someone denies it to you. Fits ranging from underhanded attacks, mental manipulations and outright lies to get your point across. Yes, I can see exactly why you are fit to sit the throne.”

 Loki’s face twisted into a snarl and he lunged for her arm. Shadowmere twisted, turning his body so Keshaara was out of harm’s way and snapped at Loki’s hand. Keshaara, from behind her mask, was clearly smirking at him again. She guided her steed forward again, leaving Loki to stew again. She was not going to continue to allow him to bait her.

 There was a prickling in her skin, racing under her armor, setting her on edge.

 She looked to the sky for but a moment, searching for –

 A roar that shook the earth beneath her feet trumpeted down from the mountains. This was probably the only moment in which she was happy to see a dragon wing down out of the sky, bugling a challenge at her.

 Keshaara swung down out of Shadowmere’s saddle, her armor flickering back to the heavy steel she preferred. Her axe was in place on her hip, and she walked boldly into the open.

 Loki sat back on Frost, his eyes narrowed.

 He was not going to intervene. Not this time. The Dragonborn could handle this, couldn’t she?

 Keshaara stood, waiting patiently for the dragon to do what it had come to do. The great beast circled overhead, screaming in its native tongue still.

 She lifted her head high, tracking the dragon as it circled overhead. She knew how to force the great beast to land, but she was waiting to see if it would land of its own accord. It breathed fire, and Keshaara stood in the brunt of the flames. Fire could not harm her. Not her, who had been born of smoke and ash and fire. The flames licked her armor, but as she knew they wouldn’t, they did not harm her skin.

 “Joor Zah Frul.”

 The words were almost casual in how they tumbled out of their mouth, but they caught the dragon mid-wingbeat. The great beast froze, and tumbled from the air. Behind her, Loki gasped. Had Keshaara desired to, she could have turned her head to see Loki clutching at his chest and stomach, doubled over in the saddle. A dragon’s thu’um was nothing to underestimate. Especially one designed to make dragons feel the brunt of mortality upon them.

 Keshaara’s axe was free in her hand, and she advanced on the collapsed dragon. Slowly at first, but she picked up speed, until she was in a full sprint. She sprinted at the beast, uncaring that it was recovering, shaking off the stunning revelation of mortality – of its own mortality coming on swiftening wings.

 She struck the dragon in the mouth with her axe as soon as she was close enough. The dragon shook off the first strike, but Keshaara was already swinging the weapon again, catching it in the jaw. Scales littered the ground beneath her, shorn from the dragon’s flesh.

 A thu’um started in the back of the dragon’s throat, one that promised pain and frost, and Keshaara ducked neatly out of its path, running under the dragon to avoid its thu’um. The tail of the beast thrashed and caught her in the shoulder, knocking her down for a moment. Her axe fell from her hand, but Keshaara knew better than to scramble for it. She jumped to her feet, magic lighting her hands as she prepared to continue the fight.

 The dragon’s face was bleeding something fierce, but it raced on the ground towards Loki, growling things in the dragon language. Even without being a thu’um proper, Keshaara knew the danger of the language of the dov. Their tongue was the primordial word, and even not being in front of the dragon, she could feel the suggestive magics that hung in the words.

 “<You are not of this world, blue-skin. Come here. _Come here_. >”

 “Loki, cover your ears! Do not listen!”

 Keshaara raced behind the dragon, trying to drown out the dragon’s voice with her own. Loki was mid-dismount when Keshaara overtook the dragon. Her small size meant she could be that much quicker.

 “Frost, Shadowmere! Fly!” she called, throwing her hands wide. The horses reared and galloped away, dumping Loki onto the ground, and thankfully, dispelling the power of the dragon over his mind.

 “Keshaara?”

 “Stay _down_ ,” she snapped, pulling a dagger from her pouch.

 The dragon reared, a thu’um starting again.

 “Ven Gar Nos!”

 Her voice was faster, and she caught the dragon unaware. It was knocked back for a moment, its wings flailing uselessly as it tried to regain its balance. She spun her dagger deftly before throwing it, aiming for the tender wing joint of the great beast. The dragon screeched when the weapon found its mark, and Keshaara was not given time to celebrate that the beast had been decidedly grounded, because it was rushing her again, its maw open and snapping.

 Loki was still in a heap on the ground, but struggling to get up. Keshaara really did not have much choice other than to plant a foot on his chest and kick him backwards, away from the dragon. The choice had a rather unintended consequence. The dragon had closed the distance, and with a mighty snap of its jaws, consumed Keshaara whole.

 Loki struggled to stand, still reeling from being in proximity to the thu’ums and words of dragons, his own magic stuttering into life around him.

 “Keshaara… _Kesh!_ ” he called, trying to focus enough to really bring his magic forward.

 The dragon, somehow, managed to look smug with a mouthful of Dovahkiin, until there was a snap and clap of thunder. Lighting poured out of its mouth, and violently, a steeled boot kicked through its teeth.

 The rumble of a storm grew, and exploded outwards. The dragon’s head was ripped to gory pieces, and Keshaara kicked an opening in its teeth so she could slide out of it. Blood had drenched her from head to toe, and there was a deep cut above her eyebrow, but she stood in front of Loki, helmetless and tall. As before, the dragon decomposed rapidly, leaving nothing but bones behind.

 Loki watched, carefully this time, as the soul of the dragon entered Keshaara’s body. The gash above her eye sealed cleanly as she tilted her head back to take a deep breath in. Her eyes rolled, glowing blue and green in contrast to their usual citrine coloration. She exhaled, her body sagging. He could see the tail end of the soul in that exhalation, like smoke hovering just inches from her mouth. Her mouth hung open, as she tried to reconcile the fullness within her as part of herself.

 Dragon’s souls were the entirety of a dragon, and sometimes, Keshaara would lose herself for a few moments trying to find Keshaara in the morass of dragon that was now within her. In this moment, that was exactly what was happening. She was lost within herself, trying to extricate herself from Brendonbriibriinah, the dragon she had killed. The female dragon she had killed, not male. The synchronicity between the two of them was…too much.

 She was only dully aware of her knees hitting the ground, just as she was vaguely aware of Loki calling her name. She could feel her body shaking, or being shook, but it still felt like that body was far, far away from her.

 Then there was…cold.

 Her body and mind snapped back into place, and Keshaara blinked sight back into her eyes. Loki was standing above her, hands on either side of her face, kissing her soundly. She did not pull away from him, and hesitantly returned the kiss, not entirely sure if she was interpreting his actions properly.

 To her shock, he kissed her with more fervor, pulling her face closer to his, until she was sitting as tall as she could from her knees, her hands on his elbows.

 He only released her when she made a small sound in the back of her throat. It was unclear to both of them if it was encouraging or not, but it still heralded the end of the contact.

 “Loki?”

 “Oh, you _do_ remember this tongue. You were babbling in that horrendous dragon-language and I could not get you to stop.”

 “Just…just so.”

 Keshaara struggled to her feet, ignoring Loki’s offered hand. She walked back to gather her helmet and her axe, leaving her dagger where it lay, embedded in the dragon’s bone. She had nothing much more to say.

 “Shadowmere and Frost will not be coming back to us by this road. We’ll have to walk the rest of the way to the next town, where if the horses did what they were trained to, they will be waiting for us at the stables. Fat, warm and happy. It is no more than a few hours walk.”

 Keshaara started along the road, trudging slowly towards the next town. Her eyes were downcast and her shoulders slumped. Fighting dragons felt wonderful in the moment, but the aftermath usually left her feeling sour.

 Loki followed behind her, uncharacteristically silent. Well, silent and non-brooding, at least. Keshaara gave him a single, tired look over her shoulder and walked on. She had to keep going. She had to keep going.

 “Does that usually happen? When you absorb the soul, I mean.”

 Keshaara stopped momentarily, looking to him with a deadened gaze before walking on.

 “You must realize a few things about dragons. They are eternal, truly immortal. Many of them have existed longer than Nords have been in Skyrim. Alduin is the first dragon created, and the first being created. From him, there are many others. Some are good, some are bad, but all of them know that they are immortal. Facing their deaths is a traumatic event for them, for in facing the Dovahkiin, they will either win, or die permanently. Anyone can kill a dragon, anyone can _try_ and kill them too. But dragons exist in such a way that only by forcing their soul into a mortal body can they die. Lo, the Dovahkiin’s entrance. I am mortal, and I consume their souls, trapping them in this singularly fleshy form. When I die, so do they. Permanently.”

 She sighed, shaking her head.

 “The soul is still them though. All of them. All of their thoughts and memories, and these are ancient beings. It is…it is hard to hold all of that inside. Every soul makes it harder to remember who tiny little Keshaara is, and that I am human. I am stronger, for sure, but I am still losing parts of myself. There’s too much dragon for a simple Nord to overcome. I can try and drown out the dragons, but it is unseemly for a Dovahkiin to act out of turn, so I end up struggling on my own again.”

 “Oh.”

 “Yeah, ‘oh’. It is not easy to be Dovahkiin. But here I am. Dovahkiin and lonely, even with all of these dragons inside me.”


	21. Haalvut

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

Keshaara was shivering by the time the town's fires could be seen on the horizon. The snowdrifts had only been growing taller as they had trudged ever closer to their destination. She knew she had to keep walking, and Loki was apparently unwilling to engage in any further conversation.

 The man was a pensive beast, given unto long bouts of taciturnal introversion. Keshaara did not really mind. She just wanted to get somewhere warm. With her bow equipped, she led Loki towards the town. Not the one she had wanted to end up at – if she had it her way, they would have slept in Windhelm, even if it had meant moderate levels of danger.  But Windhelm shut its doors at night, even after all of the deliberations she had gone through to make sure Ulfric would calm himself down and accept a sort of peace in Skyrim…and that was the second reason she was not too upset about not being able to sleep in Windhelm for the night. Ulfric had been a little prickly ever since she had allowed the Mer control of a good portion of the western half of Skyrim.

 The wind had picked up, whistling through the trees that had started to grow again. Tough, hardy trees, used to growing in poor soil and frozen earth – just like the people that lived in Windhelm Hold.

 Her teeth were almost to the point of chattering, and the cold had settled in her bones. Every few minutes she would hiss “ _Yol_ ” between her teeth to try and keep herself warm.

 There was a fresh dusting of snow on the ground. More snow had started to drift down from the sky, and when it started really falling, Keshaara snarled at the sky.

 “I could banish this snow in a moment. I have that ability. But it is _usually_ a bad choice. Draws other dragons around, and I don’t think I could handle another dragon right now. We’re heading for the town of Kynesgrove. It is not much further from here,” she said, pointing towards the lights further down the road.

 “Keshaara…are you alright?”

 She nearly stopped dead in her tracks, looking to Loki with her brows furrowed.

 “You continue to ask the questions that no one else has. I, truthfully, am not well. But it is of no real consequence. I am mostly, just cold, and looking forward to a few ales at the inn we’ll be staying at. Hopefully they’ll have some fresh furs that I can purchase. I _hate_ being cold.”

 “If you would allow me, I could –“ Loki caught himself, shaking his head. “I can help you with the cold. Our magics work so differently, that I think I can…”

 He touched her elbow hesitantly, and before Keshaara could object (her last experience with his magic had not gone spectacularly) a warm, heady heat suffused her body. She had to keep herself from collapsing into the warm feeling that suddenly suffused her being. It was the sort of warmth one only ever really felt when the room around you was cold, but you were bundled under a pile of furs and at the perfectly warmest of temperatures. Perfectly warm, if she had to be brief in her description of it - it was perfectly warm. 

 “Loki, that was, I don’t, _how_.”

 Her words tumbled over each other as she tried to really express how warm she was. It was delightful – all at once, she could feel her fingers and toes again and she did not feel even the slightest bit cold.

 “I cannot imagine for the life of me why anyone back where you lived could ever think that anything but the most incredible of skills,” she continued, walking along at a slightly faster pace now.

 She could not see Loki’s face, but she could hear the happy hum that he gave in response.

“I can try and show you it, if you would like, Keshaara. I think…with a little bit of studying, I could find a way for it to work with your magic as well. Even if our two styles are very different. You can show me how to heal cleaner as well,” he added.

Keshaara looked over her shoulder at him. He seemed, well he seemed truly alive and alert as he talked about magic.

“Do you not have anyone to talk about this sort of thing with on Asgard? I mean, I would very much enjoy learning about your magic and the rules that govern it. It is so different from what we have here. Albeit, it heals painfully, but it is still interesting. I will learn and teach you what I can. In privacy. Magic is still given a wide berth up north, because of what happened at the college a while back.”

Loki nodded, but did not ask for any further clarification.

Keshaara, happy to be warm and comfortable, even in her flame-blasted, blood-covered armor, made quick time of getting to Kynesgrove. It was a small town, without any sort of real definable features that would make it different from any other town. Frost and Shadowmere were waiting for them, standing near the only stables in the town, well-fed and happy. Keshaara greeted her horses, rubbing them affectionately and congratulating them on being such smart horses.

“The inn is this way. We should be able to get a room, but you’re _Lokil_ , alright? I cannot have others knowing your name. The dragon was close enough…”

“That is true. The dragon had some sort of magic in their voice. I remember, I remember it calling me. And I wanted to go.” His voice trailed off towards to the end, almost absentmindedly.

“The language of the dragons is a powerful thing. It is not meant to be taken lightly. Even when not used as a thu’um, it can be devastating. Ah, here is Braidwood. Please hush and let me arrange for a room.”

The door to the Braidwood Inn opened with a soft creak, and warmth rushed out again. There was a skald in the corner, singing of the greatness of the Stormcloaks and Ulfric, and not many other people. The mine drew a few customers, but she saw an unoccupied room, which meant that she and Loki wouldn’t be spending the night out in the cold. Quickly, she arranged for a room for the next day (though the couple that owned the Inn winked when she said she and her ‘partner only needed the night'), and hustled herself and Loki into the room, shutting the door quickly behind her.

 Almost immediately, she divested herself of her heavy armor, and pulled her always-present pouch from her belt. Gently, she placed it on the nearby chest, within easy reach from just about anywhere within the small room. She nodded to Loki, who had taken some small interest in her healed side, and the still-present hole in her underclothing, before jumping up onto the only bed in the room to give Loki some space .

 Her skin was astoundingly clean, despite the blood and happenings of the day. Still, there was blood and dirt on her skin, and in her hair. Loki looked the same as her.  

 “Would you like to bathe, Lokil? There are hotsprings deeper into the hill. The inn and the mine work together, and they have a wonderful set up for springs.”

 He was working himself out of his own armor, still not managing the quick on and off magic that Keshaara had, but he nodded. He might be a Jotun, but hot springs, and most of all a _bath_ , sounded wonderful. He nodded emphatically, his fingers working at the clasps that held the armor in place. Smiling, Keshaara approached him.

 She did not snap the armor off of him all at once, but instead took the time to show him where the easier clasps were, and gently, helped him out of his armor. She piled it near the door, and tossed some heavier-fabric clothing at him, pulling it from her pack. She had dressed in a similar style of clothing – simple long robes that would keep her warm on their short walk to the springs. She handed him a pair of thin shoes, and with a smile, walked back out into the inn itself. Loki watched as she had a quick conversation with the man behind the main counter of the inn. She gestured to him, and he followed, slipping on the shoes she had offered him.

 Keshaara walked out into the cold through a side door out of the inn. Loki was quickly behind her, and as the snow blustered all the harder, setting a crown of snow in her dark hair. From behind her, Loki appreciated the beauty of what was presented before him, and when they came to a low, sloping hill, already covered in snow, Keshaara turned back to him, smiling broadly and openly.

 Snow dusted her lashes and brows, and her skin was already flushed red. But for a moment, as he looked away, he could have sworn her skin was deep, flawless, blue. Something deep stirred in him, and he had to keep his eyes anywhere but on her.

 Keshaara opened the half-hidden door with a shove. Heat rushed out from the cave, and Keshaara pulled Loki close so she could shut the door behind them.

 “Don’t want the heat getting out,” Keshaara said with a laugh, stamping her foot and shaking her head to loose the rapidly-melting snowflakes from her hair.

 Loki just watched her, his breath caught in his throat. Her eyes caught his, and she paused. He was giving her a rather odd look, and with a quick quirk of her eyebrow, she communicated her confusion. But she shrugged it away, and turned towards the big pool of steaming water. She stripped out of her clothing and underclothing.

 She watched Loki’s eyes not-to-discretely make the long journey from her face to her ankles, with distinct pauses at her breasts and her ass. Nonplussed, she folded her clothing and put it in a carefully carved cubbyhole and quickly walked to the hotspring. She did not bother just dipping a toe in – she rushed right into it, sighing loudly and happily.

 Keshaara sunk deep into the water, until her nose was just barely above the water and her hair was wreathed around her.

 Loki looked around for another spring, or another bath, but there was none. Just the lone bath. It was a large enough bath for two people to be in it comfortably, but the two of them would be rather close. He swallowed his sudden nervousness (where that had come from, he would never figure out), and stripped down. Keshaara was being polite and not looking at him, preoccupying herself with struggling to get her hair out of the complex nest of plaits Argis had put in those few days back.

 She dunked her head under the water, scrubbing at her hair to loosen the clotted blood and dirt, hopefully to make it easier for her to eventually get her hair undone. She barely even gave note to Loki entering the baths with her, even as he hissed when the shockingly hot water touched his skin. In contrast to Keshaara, who was moving vigorously, scrubbing skin and hair fiercely with her hands, Loki was content to sit on the shallowest ledge and relax into the heat.

 Seated, the water came halfway up his chest, which was just fine with him. The water was nearly scaldingly hot, and Keshaara’s entire body was covered in a pink flush.

 She was picking at her hair, gently undoing the braids and knots, slowly working her hair entirely free. Her long hair was curled from the braiding, and as more of it came free, the harder it was for Loki to not look at her.

 Keshaara, even if she had ot before, now bore a strong resemblance to some of the Aesir women he had wooed with moderate effectiveness back on Asgard. He had always had a type. Keshaara did not really fit into his usual type, not in the way most women conventionally did.  She was dark of hair, like he liked, but her skin was a few shades too dark (but, _oh_ , sometimes blue), her body given over to more muscle than he preferred and her oft-changing tempers infuriated him. And absolutely entranced him.

 Loki shook his head, trying to dislodge a few errant thoughts. Keshaara was watching intently, a small smile on her face.

 “Loki, can you detangle this last braid? I am having issues with it.”

 Keshaara had turned so that the braid causing her issues was easily seen – but she had also stood up in the bath just enough that the start of the curve of her ass was visible above the waterline. Loki made some affirmative noise in the back of her throat, and Keshaara glided backwards so that she could be in Loki’s reach.

 His hands made short work of the mess of her hair, and he took a few moments to run his fingers through her detangled hair. Her hair felt…soft and not-soft at the same time. She was not a woman who had a lot of time to take care of her hair, but she did still try, and that much was apparent. The color of her hair was delightful as well, and the play of her hair against his pale skin was a lovely sight to behold.

 Keshaara shifted slightly, and he realized what he had been doing. Quickly, he retracted his hands from her hair.

 She turned her head to face him, still mostly underwater. That did not really help him, though. The waters were nearly crystal clear, and the steam that rose from the surface of the baths was not enough to obscure the vision of her body.

 She watched him carefully as he shifted in the spot he had decided he liked, her eyes locked onto his, even though she very much wanted to look…lower. Slowly, she glided closer to him, her chest bumping into his knees. She planted the heels of her hands on either side of his hips, and pushed herself up out of the water. Carefully, and with steady, even movements, she leaned up and up and up until her lips gently touched Loki’s.

 For a moment, he was frozen in place.

 Every moment after that though, he was thoroughly consumed with tasting her more. Tasting more of her. He pulled her up and fully into his lap, reveling in feeling all of her naked skin pressed to his. She only hissed when her shins scraped the ledge of his seat, but other than that, it was merely gentle kisses shared between the two of them.

 His hands rested neatly in the curve of her waist, and she had caringly rubbed the back of his neck with her knuckles. She kissed him languidly, twirling strands of his long black hair with her fingers absentmindedly. She did not bite or nip or suckle his beautifully shaped lips, not then. No, she just kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. Only when he opened his mouth to hers did she begin to kiss him deeply, her tongue meeting his with the same deliberately slow movements.

 Beneath her, Loki moaned, deep and low in his chest. The sound was like a spark to the sexual kindling inside her. It was just the right timbre of everything to make her insides melt. His hands dared to travel up and down simultaneously, one pressing in between her shoulderblades to urge her closer to him, and the other reaching down to grab a handful of her ass.

 He never stopped kissing her, even as she groaned her appreciation of the feeling of his fingers digging into the meat of her ass. Her hips jerked forward, guided by his hand on her rear, and she could feel Loki smiling into their kiss. She could not help but to smile back and gently pull on the hair she still had wrapped around her fingers.

 Loki gasped quietly, and squirmed just the slightest bit under her touch. He was thoroughly enjoying the attention though. His cock was hard beneath her, and Keshaara could feel his cooler skin pressing insistently up at her. She buried both of her hands in his hair, holding him tightly to her, kissing him soundly. Keshaara rocked herself against him, and Loki thrashed, jerking his hips up into her.

 She couldn’t tell which of them was moaning more, but she knew at least some of the noise was her. The heady feeling of desire had wormed into her, and had the baths not been so hot, it would have been an excruciating flame in her chest.

 It was almost instinct that had her hand dip back down into the water, in between their bodies to manhandle his cock into a better position. There was no time to even bother trying to tease him. There was a burning in her very soul and she needed to make it stop. She slid down onto it with a single swift move and together, both of them groaned aloud. Keshaara was hardly capable of thinking, but she rode him desperately, not wanting to stop kissing him, or feeling him, or having his hair in her hands, or running fingers down his neck, down his chest, across his body. There was so much of him to touch, and it did not seem like there was enough of her to touch him with.

 He thrusted up into her, which only made her made her eyes cross and her back bend. Her reactions clearly only spurred Loki on, because he wrapped his arms around her and thrust all the harder into her. She was so hot, _everything_ was so hot around him and there was no reason at all to stop.

 “Divi- _hii_ -ines, Lok _i_ ,” Keshaara managed through gritted teeth. The kisses had halted in favor of bared teeth and sweet groans.

 Loki set his teeth into her collarbone and Keshaara’s groan escalated into a scream. Desperately, she rode him, not caring that the water in the bath was sloshing everywhere and she had not managed to fully wash herself clean. No, all that mattered was Loki’s cock deep in her cunt, and for these glorious few minutes, she had nothing more to worry herself with.

 Her position in his lap made it impossible for her to reciprocate, and the water had made her nails soft, so all she could do was clench herself all the tighter around him and ride him harder. Words unlike any she had heard tumbled out of Loki’s mouth. As foreign as they were, the mere fact that she doubted Loki was conscious of saying anything made her want to hear _more_ from him.

 She grabbed the back of his head, and forced him to look up at her. For a single, glorious moment, they were still, just two people staring at each others in the throes of passion. Keshaara leaned down and kissed him again, her tongue not waiting for permission to delve the deepest corners of his mouth, and she went back to fucking him.

 In a single surge of action he lifted her, cupping her ass with both hands so he could turn and throw her to the ground of the hotspring’s cave. She grunted at the impact, but was careful to keep her legs hooked around his beautifully narrow hips.

 With a better angle now working to his advantage, Loki pressed his tongue into the hollow of her throat, his mouth wide around her neck. He kept thrusting into her, not slowing his pace. Not this time – because of course there were going to be other times, but for this one, there was nothing but the frantic feeling of heat and, and _gods_ , the utter rapturous desire that had consumed them.

 Keshaara cried out as he clawed down her sides with his blunted fingernails, and she could feel his smile pressed into her neck. She laughed, and pulled his head back up so she could kiss him again, her fingernails pressing into his shoulders and neck. Keshaara bit his lip, sucking on it until she was sure it had bruised, and when he cried out, she kissed him all the harder until finally, _finally,_ he was hitting just right inside of her.

 Trying very hard not to crack her head on the stone floor as blistering pleasure rolled through her body, Keshaara rode out that first orgasm, not caring that the bite of her nails had drawn blood, or that Loki was babbling in his native tongue above her. _She_ felt wonderful. Her body felt truly her own, and above and beyond that, she _felt_. She was Keshaara and Keshaara was her, and everything else outside of that was just icing on the pastry. She knew her mouth was moving, and was decently sure that she was just moaning his name over and over and over, draping endearments over her words because everything felt right and she wanted to praise him for doing so well.

 Loki, for his part, was quickly reaching that same point. Keshaara was moaning something in one of the languages she spoke, with his name sprinkled liberally throughout. Hot pinpricks of pain only made the pleasure of being buried inside of her that much more pointed. He could feel her inner muscles contracting around him, pulling him deeper into her, urging more and more and more pleasure out of him. He could not remember when his hand found her breast, or when his mouth decided that sucking on the side of her neck until she was screaming and there was a deep purple bruise under his mouth.

 Her reaction was just too good to not hear and see and feel again, so he moved his mouth down to the delicate juncture of neck and shoulder and set his teeth in again. Every time she howled her pleasure, screaming words in a language he had no skill with, he could feel her temperature rise, and her cunt tighten and it made thrusting into her sopping wet heat that much better.

 He could smell blood in the air, and he was certain it was his from the way Keshaara was clawing down his back, but he could not stop himself from making her scream his name some more. There was pleasure-derived desperation in her voice, and he just could not stop himself from making her scream more.

 “L- _oh_ -oki,” she moaned as he was leaving his fourth (or sixth) deep bruise on her flesh. “Oh, Divines, Loki!”

 Something in her tone that one time was enough to send him careening over the edge, and the deep, satisfied groan that welled up from somewhere deep inside him was met by the sweet sounds of Keshaara’s own moans.

 There was a long series of minutes where they lay, catching their breaths. Keshaara was the first to recover, arching her back up and sighing mightily. Loki took the hint and rolled off of her, groaning at the sudden lack of her heat. Keshaara slid herself back into the water, moaning deliciously as the hot water embraced her again. Luxuriating in the water again, Keshaara took a seat, her head resting on the lip of the bath. Her eyes were half-open as she regarded Loki again.

 Loki was slower to move, but he too, ended up back in the baths. Loki was smiling dopily at her, and Keshaara returned the smile back. She had deep love-bites up and down her neck and across her shoulders, and his skin was broken in places, seeping blood from raised welts.

 “We should have gotten to that much earlier, Loki,” Keshaara mumbled. Loki could only laugh in response as the heady warmth of the water seeped back into him.


	22. Krasaar

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

Loki was well and truly relaxed, as was Keshaara. She was content to blow bubbles underwater, letting the water come up to just underneath her eyes. If she ignored the tingling throb of her neck and shoulders where she knew Loki had bitten her, she was perfectly relaxed. Sex had that affect on her. She always felt better afterwards, which was probably why she sought it out more than she had assumed was the average.

 Things that made her mind calm and the incessant pull of destiny diminish were always what she wanted. She craved normalacy, she craved what had been taken from her, and knowing that she could feel _normal_ for a blessed few minutes made her dizzy with pleasure.

 She realized when Loki’s eyes caught hers that she was staring at him. After the initial shock of being caught, she smiled sheepishly at him, and turned her gaze away. He chuckled, but did not question her motives, merely went back to luxuriating in the bathwater.

 Keshaara bathed herself, running her fingers through her hair, careful to untangle the knots that Loki had fucked back into existence. She rubbed the last few clots of blood and sod from her skin, and satisfied that she was clean, Keshaara decided that she should get back to her room. She was relaxed, and that meant she was tired. She wanted to sleep, and hoped that her beastly blood would let her rest well, and undisturbed. Just this once.

 She wanted dreamless sleep, and an oblivion’s touch.

 Loki only watched her as she moved through the bath, towards the door. Water dripped from her body as she stood, sloughing down her frame, to form a puddle beneath her. He stared openly at her. Keshaara actually found herself blushing when she saw him looking at her. The pink color touched her cheeks and ears, and she ducked her head, trying to dispel the embarrassment she somehow felt. His eyes were dark with desire, still, and she felt uncommonly squeamish about it all.

 “Uhn, we should head back to Braidwood. We’ll need to sleep so we can ride to Winterhold tomorrow.”

 Loki ‘mhm’d at her, and rose from the water. Her gaze dipped down his body, and her breath caught.

 “Divines do you look good, Loki. I highly applaud the, uh,” she gestured to him, moving her hand up and down. “That.”

 “Why thank you, Kesh.”

 Keshaara nodded her head again, and turned away. She reached for a towel and began drying herself off. Scrubbing her hair vigorously, she did her best to get as much of the water out of her hair as possible. It was cold out in the great wide world, and having her hair frozen, even if only for a few moments, was not an appealing idea.

 She heard Loki get out of the water behind her, and moments later, his hand was resting on her hip again. His skin felt cool against her own, but when she shivered at the contact, he drew away from her. Keshaara smiled at him, but did not move away or towards him. She just rubbed her body down with the towel and re-dressed herself.

 “Your hair is still wet, Kesh.”

 She turned to him, and was surprised to see him dried and dressed already, smiling broadly at her.

 “I have more hair than you, Loki. I’ll be fine, we’ll be back in the Inn shortly enough. I’ll curl up under the furs and sleep for a few hours, and then we’ll get you up to Winterhold. As soon as Urag has an idea of where I should start, I will go and do what must be done.”

 Keshaara nodded briskly and moved towards the door. Loki caught her arm and held her back, and she turned quickly to face him. He touched a hand to her hair, and all at once, it was dried. She could feel the sudden lack of wet on her scalp and when she reached up to touch her previously half-dried mane, her fingers could only feel the soft-course interplay of her hair. No wet.

 “I am much and more curious about your magic. When it is not making me regret a knifing, it is passing helpful.”

 Her tone clearly communicated jest, and Loki beamed at her. He kissed her briefly, touching his lips to her cheek before opening the door for her. Keshaara tried not to let her confusion show, but Loki saw through her charade and gently swatted at her butt to get her moving through the door, back out into the cold darkness.

 She complied, and started walking back to the inn, laughing lightly as Loki tugged on her hair. Snow fell, still, and Keshaara quick-stepped all the way back to the warmth of the Inn. Loki followed behind, and whenever she chanced a glance back at him, he was still half-smirking at her, as if there was some particularly funny joke that he was not willing to share with her.

 She did not question him about anything he was doing, but it was the slightest bit unnerving. He was acting differently than he had, and Keshaara was unsure if she actually enjoyed this change. Loki, for his part, was uncharacteristically quiet, following behind her as always, as they traipsed through the ever-growing snowdrifts back to the inn.

 With a none-too-gentle shove, Keshaara opened the door back to the inn. The inn, while not nearly as warm as the hotsprings had been, was still a decent temperature as compared to what the weather outside was like. Smiling and exchanging pleasantries with those around her, Keshaara walked back to the room she and Loki shared. There were a few knowing smiles sent her way, and a little ripple of whispers followed them. She was not easily embarrassed, but the smiles and the whispers put her on edge.

 Her experiences with these sorts of things usually ended with a knife coming too close to her kidneys. Loki was still hovering nearby, grinning down at her, and even going so far as to place a hand in the dip of her low back. She arched her back instinctively, and Loki swept down to plant another kiss on her cheek.

 Neatly, and without giving the appearance of offering insult, Keshaara stepped out of his grasp and made a swift exit to her room for the evening. There was a quiet titter of laughter from her, and then Loki was pushed into the room behind her. He was laughing, and kicked the door closed behind him.

 “What is going on, Lokil?” Keshaara asked, crossing her arms. If there was some jest in what was going on, she wanted to at least be included in it.

 “Nothing, nothing, Kesh,” Loki said as he brushed some of her hair off of her neck.

 Her mind snapped everything into place, and she reached up to her neck, her fingers feeling out the points of tenderness where he had…

 “You actually marked my neck deeply, did you?”

 He shrugged, but smiled all the wider.

 “You look good with them. I would see you gifted with more, if I were permitted to just…”

 Keshaara saw him leaning down to her neck, and intercepted him with one of her hands. She pushed his face away from her, and swiped her other hand across her neck. Golden light touched down on her throat, healing the bruises cleanly, and leaving not a single mark remaining.

 “I believe we should sleep now, Lokil. There is more than enough time for that later, but the night is not getting any younger, and we have much to do.”

 He smiled and tilted his head away from her hand.

 “As you say, Kesh.”

 Keshaara rolled her eyes and divested herself of the clothing she had worn to and from the baths, leaving her in the same underclothing she had worn before. The hole from Loki’s knife was still present, but the blood had been cleaned away, leaving her clad simply and ready for bed. She went to her pack, and pulled the skin of the sabercat from it. The fur was big and bulky, but it was clearly fully ready to be used.

 She wrapped herself in the fur, and trudged towards the large bed they had rented. Keshaara flopped down into the bed, spreading the fur out over it before climbing under the covers. She burrowed under the blankets and the furs, turning onto her side, away from Loki. He slowly crept under the covers with her, and edged close to her. When Keshaara did not flinch away from him or do anything to dissuade him from coming closer, he slung an arm over her waist and pulled her close to his body.

 “Lokil?”

 “Oh, hush, Kesh. Sleep,” Loki muttered into her neck. He felt her relax into his arms, and he smiled again. She felt good in his arms.

 She sighed happily, and did not allow herself to consider how comfortable she was. Loki’s arm on her, his body pressed close to her and the shockingly delightful feeling of his cool skin on her own warm body. The blankets and fur over her made her feel safe and comfortable, but there was something so cloyingly delightful about him, and her, and how they fit together.

 So Keshaara fell into sleep, wrapped into the arms of Loki, warm and cool and comfortable. He made her feel…

 

* * *

 

She woke, much later, all at once. Her neck prickled with the sensation of danger, and Keshaara knew that her instincts were never to be ignored. At this point in her tenure as Dovakiin, following her instinct was what had kept her alive. She rolled out of the bed, reaching for where her pack had been placed, intending to arm herself and defend herself from whatever was causing her reaction.

Her hand was intercepted, though. The feeling of what had caught her made her knees falter beneath her, and Keshaara dropped down in supplicance.

 “Hermaeus Mora, my Prince.”

 “Champion, you rise.”

 “Kesh?”

 “Lokil, _sleep_ ,” Keshaara snapped, moving into a more comfortable kneeling position.

 The great Daedric Prince, Hermaeus Mora was present in her rented room. He was a chaotic mass of tentacles and shadow, and his very presence was to inspire fear and loathing in those that beheld him. He was the holder of great knowledges, and one of the few Princes who held a potential control over her afterlife. Keshaara knew better than to try and do anything to contradict him, so she knelt, mute and meek at the side of her bed.

 “Champion, who is this one?”

 Hermaeus’s voice was oil and slime in her ears, but she knew refusing to answer the Prince would cause nothing but problems for them both.

 “My Lord, he is a traveler who amuses me. He is called Lokil. I am taking him to Winterhold to see if we can find the source of his…ailment.”

 Hermaeus, and his mass of tentacles withdrew in upon himself, as if he was considering her words. On the bed, Loki was blessedly quiet, looking upon the Prince with horror. Loki, of course, could taste the varying levels of lies on Keshaara’s tongue from where he was, but he was not going to draw attention to what she was saying. This was something he had never prepared for, and even the horrors of the abyss would not prepare anyone for this sort of thing.

 Keshaara was meek and silent, waiting for Hermaeus, and his judgment of her words. He may be the Prince of Knowledge, of forbidden things, of whatever he decided to overlook, but he was still fallible. The Daedra and Aedra were not creatures that were without faults, and unable to trick. Keshaara just had to hope that Hermaeus would not look too deeply into her words. Loki was not something she wanted to reveal to the Daedra. Her own afterlife being taken from her was bad enough, but if she contributed to Loki being unable to return home, or even worse, if she happened to have a hand in him being forced to serve that which repulsed him…Keshaara was unsure if she could handle such a thing.

 Her heart thrummed in her chest, fluttering wildly as she pointedly stared at the floor beneath where the mass of tentacles and eyes and shadows hovered. She did not dare to look the Prince in any of his eyes, even as she felt his multitude of eyes look her over. Keshaara was painfully careful to remain as still as she could, but every frantic beat of her heart made her feel like she was jumping out of her own skin.

 She felt a tentacle wrap around her wrist, and work its way up her arm. Up and up and up…until it was wrapped around her throat. Others touched her arm, her legs, her waist. The tip of one of them prodded her mouth, and only then did Keshaara turn her head away. Right now she could not concern herself with Loki. She had to make sure that Hermaeus did not seek to harm her. Her mind, her mental ability, everything that made her, _her_ , was too precious to lose to this Prince. By the same token, however, there was no way in any realm of Oblivion that she would allow Loki to come to harm under her protection.

 Hermaeus may be terrible, but she was not so afraid of him that she would not offer bold-faced half-lies to him.

 Slick black ink slid over her skin, spread around by Hermaeus’s tentacles, and Keshaara did her very best to keep from shuddering away from Hermaeus’s touch, as much as it made her feel disgusting. She had to stay as still as possible.

 “My Champion, you seek knowledge not even I have. I trust that when you have finished this quest, you will bequeath this knowledge to me, so that I possess it.”

 Keshaara struggled to speak as a tentacle glided across her lips again.

 “As-as you say, my Lord.”

 And then, all at once, the great presence was gone, and Keshaara was left, kneeling on the floor, her skin clear of any inky residue. She was slow to stand, trembling and doing her best not to.

 “Kesh?”

“Not…not now, Lokil. I need to, I need – I have to…I need to go.”

 She spoke quickly, fumbling for her pack. Her armor snapped onto her, and she stumbled out of the room.

 “Keshaara?!”

 The Dovahkiin did not respond, just rushed out of the inn. Loki scrambled after her, pulling his armor on as fast as he could. Keshaara was already gone by the time he was following her out. He was still pulling his vambraces on when he followed her out, only to see Keshaara, already astride Shadowmere, racing north out of Kynesgrove.

 “Keshaara!” he called after her, turning to look back towards the stables. Frost was already trotting towards him, saddled and ready to go.

 Loki swung up into the saddle, impatiently kicking Frost in his side to get the great horse moving. He followed Keshaara’s path out of the town. Snow was kicked up by Frost’s hooves, and even though Loki knew that it was not best to race a horse in such inclement weather, he had already lost sight of Shadowmere and the rider.

 He and Frost rushed northwards, hoping that there were no forks in the road that he missed, or that Keshaara had darted off into the forest, off the path to a place only she knew of. It was not long until he saw Shadowmere standing at the side of the path, riderless, but clearly agitated. For a heart-stopping moment, Loki thought someone had taken Keshaara away from him, but as he drew up next to Shadowmere, he could clearly hear the sounds of someone being violently ill.

 Dismounting Frost as fast he could manage, Loki rushed towards the sound. Someone was vomiting nearby and coughing madly at the same time. If he listened carefully, he could even hear soft whimpers in the moments in between the vomiting and coughing.

 “Keshaara?” he offered to the forest, daring to venture off the path, leaving the two horses unattended. He could see footprints in the fresh snow, leading deeper into the forest.

 There were deep black patches of snow on either side of the prints, and as he progressed further into the forest, the even (if a bit rushed) footsteps became staggering messes of kicked-up snow. The black patches grew more frequent, sometimes flecked with what appeared to be pieces of squid or octopus. Confused and growing ever more concerned, Loki walked as fast as he could through the dense trees, following the staggering path through the snow.

 The sounds of illness grew only louder, and Loki could see Keshaara ahead of him, holding onto a sapling for dear life. Her back was to him, but she was kneeling, doubled over in the snow, vomiting heavily. Her helmet had been thrown to the side, and her hair was flying out all around her, wild and free. The black snow was all around her, and it was abundantly clear that it was Keshaara who was vomiting up the blackness, and the pieces of tentacle.

 “Keshaara,” he said, not sure if he should approach.

 She only shuddered in response, still in the middle of throwing everything inside of her up onto the snow. He approached her hesitatingly, extending a hand to touch her shoulder gently. He did not know what to do, only that she was clearly in distress and that made him feel antsy.

 The snow at her knees and in a widening arc in front of her was as black as a moonless midnight, flecked with small pieces of still-writhing tentacles. Loki hesitatingly knelt down next to her, trying his best to be unobtrusive and comforting at the same time. There were a long few moments where Keshaara would nearly manage to catch her breath between the coughing and vomiting, only to have whatever illness that plagued her return and send her into another fit.

 Finally though, it subsided. Loki’s clothing was nearly soaked through at the knees and shins, but he remained at Keshaara’s side. Her coughing subsided minutes after the last instance of vomiting, and after a few moments of shaking, raspy breathing, she seemed to relax. But Keshaara did not speak to Loki, not then. She was trembling, and did not want to speak when her voice was tremulous. He still gathered her into a hug, and allowed her to tremble in his arms.

 He could almost make out her soft, breathy, whimpers, but decided not to talk to her about them. He was not going to say anything. Not a single thing. It did not take any of his considerable intelligence to understand that whatever was happening, whatever illness that had taken Keshaara was directly in response to the creature that had appeared to them both earlier.

 Keshaara pushed him away after a while, and stood, dusting snow off her armor. She grabbed a handful of still-pristine white snow from the ground and shoved it in her mouth, using it as a crude mouthwash. The coldness numbed her tongue to the taste of the ink on her tongue and helped her clean the horror from her teeth. She walked back towards Shadowmere and Frost, saying nothing to Loki, and not even really acknowledging his existence there at all.

 He could only watch her wipe her mouth on the back of her vambrace, mount Shadowmere, and turn his head back towards the North.

 Wordlessly, Loki mounted Frost, and drew close to Keshaara.

 Keshaara held up a hand when she saw his mouth opening.

 “No words. Not now, Loki. Please. Not now.”

 His teeth clicked together as he closed his mouth. He offered her a tight nod, and rode on, alongside her.  


	23. Lah

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

  
“Kesh…I am sorry. It appears that I misunderstood what you meant when you talked of Princes.”

 Loki’s voice came from behind her, and she knew that his words were meant truly. Still, she did not reply. Not for a while. She was still rather upset with all that had happened to ruin the otherwise wonderful morning. Her life had changed too much for her taste in the past three years, and when she had thought she had settled into the skin of the Dovahkiin, armored in the knowledge that no one cared about anything other than her title (leaving her to be free to be not-Keshaara and avoid all the sticky, uncomfortable memories that Keshaara had), Loki came along.

 She was rather upset with him, if she were to be honest with herself. It was not fair that he could come in and manage to do what no one else had. He made her face questions again. Questions she preferred not to think about, even if they were always on her mind. It was one thing to know a question in your heart and to ask it only of yourself. It was another to have someone ask you the question and answer it aloud. Even if she was, truly, comfortable with telling the truth, she did not like that Loki only seemed to want to know the painful truths.

 “Are they all of that nature?”

 She did not respond.

 The question was not a particularly prying one, just one born of curiosity and interest. Keshaara could not envision Loki really understanding Daedra, even after seeing Hermaeus. He would have had to come into contact with something equally as horrifying to understand why her skin crawled when she first thought that she had inadvertently drawn one into her home. But now, she had grown rather fond of him. As much as she did not mind admitting to finding him attractive, being fond of people was not something she often found herself doing.

 Keshaara shifted in the saddle, contemplating what she was going to do. She could still feel Hermaeus’s touch on her skin, and even if she had vomited up all of the corruptive magic that Hermaeus had wrought upon her, she did not really feel like inviting more of the same on herself. But Loki did deserve an answer.

 “No. Hermaeus has a warped mentality and a horrid sense of design. Some of the others appear as human, others have forms of human and beast rolled into one.”

 She looked to Loki, and was surprised to see him looking perturbed with her answer.

 “Why is it that this troubles you, Loki?”

 “He named you Champion.”

 “Just so.”

 “Yet he caused you harm. You were sickened by his touch.”

 “Just so.”

 His frown only deepened. Keshaara was confused. It was the way of the world. Champions were sent into battle, out into the great world to do great deeds for those who they championed, and the Champion understood that the arrangement was meant to solely benefit the one who maintained the power.

 She had championed those she hated, because they had what she needed. That did not make her feel good, nor did it make her anything other than wealthier, in both much-needed power and lesser-needed prestige. She needed Hermaeus to understand the Elder Scrolls, to ensure that she could survive their mind-altering knowledges. The Elder Scrolls and the magic and knowledge within them were paramount in understanding how Alduin was cast into the Time Wound, and how to permanently destroy him.

 But that did not mean she wanted Hermaeus.

 Keshaara shivered in her saddle.

 “What sort of Prince treats a Champion as such.”

 Loki was not asking a question. There was a surliness to his voice that she had only heard when he had spoken of his home before this. Keshaara furrowed her brows and looked to him.

 “It is how it must be. The Princes take what they want, and give what they deem appropriate. To Hermaeus, what was done was merely a show of affection, a way to remind me that I belong to him. The fact that I do not like it does not much matter. I am the Champion of Skyrim.”

 He snarled, and grabbed Shadowmere’s reins. Keshaara punched him for his impudence, but his grip did not release. Loki went as far as twisting in his own saddle so he could reach with his other hand to grab the back of her neck and pull her closer to him.

 “ _You_ …”

 Whatever words he had inside of him died in his throat. He released her, drawing away from her, and leaving Keshaara sitting rather confused.

 “Me, Loki. I have told you this all before. The Princes are not anything anyone would want to serve. I did not have a choice. It is what allows me to pass through places unmolested, it is what lets me save Skyrim. And that is what I must do. Regardless of how I feel, I must.”

 Loki made a plethora of incomprehensible noises beneath his breath, but they seemed to be in that milktongue of his, and not in the language of the men, or the language of the mer. He alternated between staring at her and at the back of Frost’s head, and it truly did not take much to realize that magic was thrumming in the air around him. It felt similar to the magic of the Collegiates, but it tasted different in her mouth. Perhaps it was the aftertaste of Hermaeus’s touch still, but Keshaara rather thought she could better understand him through the way that his magic worked.

 She let him ride out his tantrum though. She did not seek to interject, not even when she could see thin streamers of green hovering in the air. That was his magic, she knew, and it was not currently the time or place to ask about it. Keshaara was horridly curious about it though, and allowed her mind to focus on something other than the troubling meeting with a Daedric Prince that had marred her morning.

 The mental map she formed of Loki, in both of the forms he presented himself as – the blue skinned Jotun, and the pale fleshed man, had always included the other things she had sensed about him. His scent, the way he moved, and more recently, the way his skin felt, the planes of his muscles…and other things of a similar nature. His magic, though, she had not had the pleasure of studying. He had shown her things, small tricks that were apparently nothing to him, but had rather intrigued her.

 His magic seemed to be far more focused on will and intent instead of channeling the raw magicka through known routes to produce specific effects. Not that his magic lacked any sort of specificity – he had clearly demonstrated he could do exactly what he intended to do through the utilization of his magic, but it was not as linear as the Collegiate magic was, it seemed. She wondered, absently, if she could learn to use her magic as Loki did. His magic was very precise, despite being so nonlinear, and his smaller applications seemed to often have greater affect than spells of a comparable magicka-needing spells here.

 Perhaps he was merely more efficient than her.

 Keshaara had long since tuned Loki out, consumed with her mental introspection of what she could observe and sense about his magic, but when he stopped talking and looked to her, expecting an answer, she shook the thoughts from her mind.

 “Apologies, I was riding a dragon in Mundus. What were you saying?”

 “I asked you…I asked you if you had ever considered leaving this realm for another.”

 The look she gave Loki was one that was full of disbelief. Not because it was an odd question, but because she was positive that was not what he had asked her. Even if she had not been paying close attention, the cadence of his words then compared to now did not match with enough congruence for her to believe him.

 “It would not matter. I cannot leave. I am bound to Skyrim.”

 The way his green eyes lit with that particularly mischievous inner flame that she was starting to find familiarity in made her wary.

 “Why do you insist on asking that, Loki? You know I cannot leave. If I cannot even pass beyond the border of Skyrim to see the other lands of Tamriel, what makes you think I could escape Mundus. If these other realms of yours do truly exist and can be reached from here, I will never see them.”

 He smiled at that.

 “And you are still so certain you can send me back. How interesting, Kesh.”

 It was her turn to laugh, and she shook her head.

 “It is different. You belong somewhere other than… _oh_.”

 Keshaara reined Shadowmere up short. The great horse stamped its hoof indignantly, tossing its great head from side to side in displeasure. Loki reined Frost in far more gently, turning the steed so he could look at her. Her gaze, however, was focused at some distant point over his shoulder. She was engrossed in thought, as if her own words had triggered a thought that consumed her entirely.

 The truth was just that. Keshaara, all at once, felt as if she had stumbled onto an answer that would not require Urag.

 “I… _Yes_ , I can return you home. There are great and powerful magics that still exist in Skyrim, and any number of them would be enough to send you home. Myself, however…my only solace is that in death, I could perhaps be called back from wherever I serve with a thu’um. Many heroes can be called in that manner, to those who know the shout and the truest name of those they desire to come forth. It is a powerful thing, enough to call Dovahkiin of the past to come to my aide when the need is dire, but I doubt that even such a thu’um as that could free me from a Daedra once I am dead.”

 Loki gave her a queer look, but she brushed his concern off with sweep of her hand. She had sudden need to talk to Urag, and she could suddenly foresee their trip to Winterhold being much shorter than originally expected. If she was correct, and Urag should surely know if she was, there would be not much else to do. Her time with Loki would be short.

 The last thought made a unexpected flash of regret blossom in her heart, but she ignored it. Loki did not belong in Skyrim, and she had made the choice to help him get home. If that moment happened sooner than she had expected, then she was not going to worry too much about it. She needed to make sure he was safe.

 “…The truest name?”

 Something in how he asked that made her turn sharply to look at him. Loki met her sharp stare without flinching. She knew there was a trick in his question, she could taste his pointed curiosity. Keshaara was slow to answer.

 “The name in the tongue of the Dov. The dovah have their names, and while they are not exactly secrets amongst one another, most mortals will never know them. Names are powerful things. You can summon a dragon if you have its name – its true name. Dovahkiin are dragon-souled, and it can work the same way for us. But everyone has a name in the dragon language. Whether or not they know it, or if anyone else knows it, is generally the sticking point. I can usually make pretty good guesses to the names of others, but my own…I know my own.”

 “What is it?”

 Keshaara snorted.

 “I am _not_ telling you that, Loki.”

 “But you know it?”

 “Of course I do. The dragon-names describe the core of cores inside a being. Sentient beings have that core, and the name describes that. It does not take much introspection to find your own name when you have a mastery of their tongue.”

 Loki made a humming noise at her, apparently pleased by that. He was clearly thinking of something, of planning something that she was unsure if she wanted to know more about. Loki was a careful, but dastardly man, and Keshaara knew she was right to be wary around him.

 “What is mine, then?”

 Keshaara blinked, shocked by the question.

 “I…I do not know. I have not given thought to it. I do not know if I would even be comfortable figuring it out. You are not a dragon, and I cannot, in good conscience, allow myself to know your name. I – it could give me too much power over you, and you are still very susceptible to dragon-speech. It would not be right of me to do that.”

 “But I am asking you.”

 She fidgeted in the saddle, unsure of how to proceed. Of course she could find out what his name was, and now that he had mentioned it, it could be a very interesting mental exercise to see if she was truly so skilled as to find a name in the language of dragons that fit this man from another realm entirely.

 “And…I will find it. But, perhaps, not now, when we are out in the great wide world, where anyone can listen in. Winterhold is not too much further, and the College is not much further than that. After I speak with Urag, I will decide if it is appropriate for you to know your name, or even if I should seek it out. We will not be staying more than a night in the College, however. I think I may have found a way to get you home, without requiring Urag’s research.”

 Loki seemed content to accept that as an answer, and did not press her any further for information. Still, Keshaara watched him carefully out of the corner of her eye, wary of what he could and would try to do in the future. She had already established that she trusted him and simultaneously knew that she should not trust him, but it did not stop the nagging sensation hovering at the back of her mind.

 He did not try and restart the conversation, and Keshaara was very glad for the silence. The cold had come again, and she was starting to truly feel it. Snow still fell from the sky, forming small piles on her armor, and any place that was not in constant movement. Shadowmere, luckily, was not a living horse, so she had no worries for him, but Frost would need to rest, perhaps for longer than they had available to them.

 These were all things she took into consideration, as she and Loki rode on. Winterfell was visible in front of them, drawing closer with every plodding step of the horses. Keshaara knew she should be at least somewhat nervous, because the College was full of people both fair and foul, but she could not find it in her to concern herself with who may see what Loki is.

 He was her companion, and she had dragged far more interesting things through the College doors before. Loki would not come to harm at the College, not while she drew breath and was there to stop them.

 “This is Winterhold. Dawnstar and Solitude are about as northward as Winterhold is, but Winterhold is far more than just a northern place. The College here has caused strife and chaos for as long as anyone can remember, and its proximity to Morrowind, and most especially – the tales that trickle down South into the rest of Skyrim. Our destination is the College. I have a room there, and I shall be sharing it with you, as usual. But the Collegiate may ferret out who you are, so I have a bit of a request for y-”

 “Do you want me to obscure my face with scarves and the like? You saw through what no one else has, and I do not need to be found out by everyone.”

 “Uh, no. I just need you to not cause a scene. Urag is a friend, and we won’t be staying long. Just…don’t bother anyone. Especially Jzargo.”

 Loki smirked at her, but nodded in compliance.

 “We leave the horses here. The walk up to the College is not a long one, but I can…You asked, once, to see Morrowind. There is a place on the bridge that leads to the College where you can just barely see it.”

 Keshaara dismounted, handing the reins to the stablehand who had immediately rushed to her as soon as her boots touched the frozen ground. Loki was off his own mount moments later, and Keshaara pointed him in the proper direction.

 She dusted snow off of her armor, removing her helmet as she walked. She held it under her arm for a moment before it vanished into the pack at her hip. Loki followed behind her, marveling at how the people in this town bowed out of her way. There were murmurs of “Thane” that followed in her wake, and children were hurriedly hushed when they raised their voice at her.

 Keshaara walked like a Queen, her head high, shoulders back, and the feminine sway of her hips made it known that she was unafraid of being exactly who she was. She was a woman, she was a Champion, she was a Mage of the College, she was a warrior, and she was Dovahkiin.

 Loki, behind her, walked as a Prince would, tall and just as regal as she. His appearance behind her drew appreciative stares from the women, and the men made subtle comments at the fact that he was accompanying the Dovhakiin and was garbed in armor as fine as anything else she wore. Loki knew how to draw attention and cut an imposing figure. Together, they inspired hushed awe.

 She began climbing the steps that led to the College’s bridge. A Mer woman stood at the top of them, but a single disdainful look from Keshaara had the woman cowering away, bowing her head quickly. The Dovhakiin swept past her, and Loki followed behind. It was not until she was halfway across the bridge, with the huge castle looming in front of them, did she turn to the east.

 Snow was still falling with increasing frequency, obscuring all vision of the land she had called home.

 For a moment, Keshaara let her sadness show, her mouth twisting into a frown, her brows dropping down, and her shoulders sagging. She could not even see her home, but she knew it was there. Rage soon replaced her sadness, and fury wrote itself into her face. Loki watched, silently, but with curiosity (always curiosity) as the change happened.

 “Lok Vah Koor!”

 Her shout shook the skies, and the power in the words nearly bowled Loki over. The snow was flung from the air, the clouds driven away, and all at once, the sun was shining. There was no fog, no mist, no anything that could obscure the sight in the distance…a place of obsidian and blackened rock, with smoke rising from flames far from sight.

 “That is Morrowind. That is home.”

 Loki barely gave the land she was talking about any attention at all. He was focused almost entirely on her, and how she was acting. Keshaara took a long minute to stare at her homeland, and all that while, Loki watched her.

 “We should go. I do not want to, but we should go.”

 Keshaara turned away from the view of her homeland and continued, walking into the College proper.


	24. Ahzid

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

The great courtyard of the College of Winterhold opened before them both. Loki froze in his tracks, ogling everything presented before him. The students were bustling, going hither and thither to get to the various lectures they needed to attend, or to go and complete some menial task for their professor of choice. The great well of magicka, glimmering and rising from the ground in front of the statue of Shalidor seemed to fascinate Loki, as it had once fascinated her.

 “Welcome to the College, Lokil. I imagine this is a bit different from As-mmph?”

 Loki had spun her as she spoke and pulled her into a searing kiss. He cradled her head and dipped her. Her shock transformed into pleasured acceptance of the affection, and she kissed him back, twining her hands into his hair. He was really, just a great kisser.

 When he let her up, she grinned at him. There was some appreciative whistling and clapping from some of the less-rushed students. Keshaara nodded to them, but kept most of her attention on Loki.

 “You should teach Farkas that trick. Cause, Divines, very nice.”

 Loki blinked and looked to her.

 “What is Farkas?”

 “Not a what, he is her huszband! Keszhaara, how good of you to be here.”

 Keshaara turned, all smiles, her arms wide and welcoming to the Khajiit. J’zargo enveloped her in a huge bearhug, lifting her ever so slightly off her feet.

 “Yes, and grand to be back this last time. I must speak to Urag, but first, I think, I should see Lokil here to my room so that we can all change and remove the road’s dust from our skin. Lokil, this is J'zargo, an acquaintance of mine. ”

 “It szeemsz that the duszt is more like sznow, but yesz, that isz a good plan.”

 J’zargo walked off, undoubtedly to do something more important. They would meet up again later in the evening, for sure. Keshaara gestured to Loki so he would follow her. He did so, but there was a sudden darkness in his eyes that she was very sure was foreboding, if not outright dangerous. Perhaps his people had issues with Khajiit?

 It was a thought for another time. Keshaara was so close to being able to really solve this mystery. Yes she was terrified of what would come afterwards, but for now, she could only allow herself to think of what she was capable of doing for Loki. She would be able to get him home. That was enough to make her truly happy, and the smile that danced across her face was one of purest delight.

 “My room is this way,” she said, gesturing to the appropriate room in the Apprentice’s Quarters. She led Loki inside, and closed the door behind him. “It has no lock, but everyone knows better than to dally in a Mage’s quarters while here. I am known to be particularly-mmph?”

 For a second time, Loki spun her around, but this time, it was not for something as sweet as a kiss. He lifted her and pinned her to the door hard enough to make stars dance across her vision for a moment.

 “You _never said_ you had a _husband_ ,” he snarled at her, one of his hands wrapping around her throat.

 “You never _asked_ , Lokil. All those questions and you never _asked_.”

 He choked her, then, tightening his hand cruelly over her throat. Keshaara grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away. Black spots formed in her vision, obscuring her sight as the air, and the life was stripped from her. She kicked, without really intending to harm him. She just needed to draw in enough air to-

 “Feim Zii Gron,” she hissed, and all at once, she was free of Loki’s grasp. Her body was mist and etherealality, and she quickly moved from Loki’s range.

 “You dishonor your husband by-”

 “My husband holds no conceptions that he is the only one who warms my bed. He is my husband, he is not my…he is Ahmul, not Alunsegein. He is my husband, but he is not anything more than that. He has his own lovers, I have mine. As long as there is no fertility outside of the marriage bed, there is no issue.”

 “Wh _at_?!” Loki screamed, swiping at her. His fist passed clean through her, to his surprise.

 “Marriage is a convenience here. Farkas is a great man. A good Companion. He makes a great companion. If I die, he will take care of things in my stead, and if he dies, he knows that his family name will live on. As I cannot have children of my own, there is no worry on his part that I will bear a bastard to his clan, and as he is rather preoccupied with being a Companion and is known to be married to the Dovahkiin, I do not much have any worry that he would be indiscrete with who he chooses to bed either. We are married for the ease of it. I needed to make sure that things would be managed if I died in killing Alduin. He is husband, but he is not anything close to being beyond that.”

 Rage still boiled under Loki’s skin. She could see it as clearly as she could see the furrow in his brow, the thinning of his lips as he peeled his face back into a feral snarl. He felt as if he had been affronted.

 “Did you…think something else?” she offered hesitantly, knowing the effect of the shout would be wearing off soon and she would be corporeal and strikeable within a very short amount of time.

 “It clearly does not _matter_ what I thought, Keshaara.”

 “You are throwing a tantrum like a child denied sweets after dinner because you assumed, incorrectly, that I was unmarried, and then assumed, incorrectly _again_ , that marriage means the same thing to my people as it apparently does to yours. It does matter what you thought, because I do not like being pinned to doors by angry, attractive men, if said men do not proceed to ravish me thoroughly afterwards. As I doubt ravishing will be happening, I must change and go talk with Urag. You should have free reign of the College, but stay away from J’zargo.”

 Her body shimmered as it took a physical form again, and Loki grabbed her by the wrist. He pulled her back into him, wrapping his other hand around her waist. The smile he gave her was entirely too full of teeth, and Keshaara prepared herself for the likelihood she would have to knock Loki right out.

 “You said I misunderstood.”

 “That you have.”

 “So Farkas does not care that I have his wife in my arms? That I have ravished her? That I plan to do so again? Your husband does not care that he wears horns? He does not mind?”

 He pulled her tighter to him, leaning down over her.

 “My husband enjoys sharing me with whoever else joins our bed. He’d enjoy you, as much as he’d enjoy me enjoying you and us enjoying each other.”

 Her matter-of-fact tone clearly took Loki back. He stepped away from her, his grip loosening and the cocky grin fading to a confused smirk. Keshaara winked at him and stepped closer to him. This was not going how Loki had predicted it, and Keshaara did so love to see him confused. Sure, she could be mad at him for attacking her, but there was no reason. He was reacting like the petulant child he was, throwing a tantrum because he had assumed someone has stolen a favored toy, or however he thought of her.

 “Kesh, what?”

 His legs hit the side of her bed, and it did not take much more of a push for him to fall backwards.

 “You need to think more, Lokil. You need to take a few moments and consider what you consider to be proper,” she reached for his pants, deftly undoing the laces, despite Loki’s confused squeak. “May not be proper here, and what I find to be normal,” she pulled his pants down around his ankles, flattening her palms on his hips. “Is not normal for you. Lokil, you see…” Keshaara knelt in between his legs, maintaining eye contact as she did so. “This is just so perfectly _me_.”

 Loki made a stammering noise in the back of his throat, not at all used to the tables being turned on him so deftly. Keshaara was kneeling, she was _kneeling_ in front of him, and he was vulnerable and open to her, but she was the one prostrated before him. Her hands were pressed into the jutting bone of his hips, and she was still smiling at him. Keshaara never saw someone go from angry to aroused so quickly.

 He stared at her, propping himself up on his elbows to better look down at her. She leaned up and gently pressed her nose into the flesh of his thigh, and he gasped.

 “Y-you wouldn’t, yo-” he cut himself off with a hiss when Keshaara pressed her lips into the juncture where his leg met the base of his torso.

 “I wouldn’t what, Lokil?” she asked quietly, leaning up into him. Loki found it nearly impossible to look her in the eye all at once. Like staring into the heart of the sun, her eyes were burning orange and gold.

 She kissed higher on his hip, her hair falling forward, alighting on his skin. Loki fisted the bedding beneath him in his hands. This was far from the most intimate thing anyone had ever done to him, but no one…no one had…

 “Keshaara, tha-that’s not proper.”

 “Hmm?” Keshaara hummed, her lips still pressed in the soft dip of his hip. He could feel the vibration travel all the way up his body and it only made him ache all the harder for her.

 “ _Kesh_ ,” he managed to grit out as she peppered light kisses all across his hips and thighs, coming damningly close to his cock and never once touching it. Not even a strand of her hair brushed it in passing. It was infuriating because she was paying attention to every other inch of skin but not doing anything else.

 She stopped, removing her hands from his hips, and pushing herself up on the bed. The sudden lack of contact made him groan.

 “ _Lokil._ ”

 He opened his mouth to scold her for using that damned name, but she moved so much faster than he had expected and all at once he was buried in the sensations of her lips wrapped around his cock and her tongue flicking across his –

 “Fuck, Keshaara. _Fuck_.”

 She swallowed him all the way to the root, and Loki bucked his hips up into her. It was so different than everything else he had ever experienced – and he had experienced quite a lot but this sort of ministration had always been taboo and seemed so wrong and illicit. Why had no one ever-

 “Kesh!”

 That nickname of hers fell so much easier from his lips when her mouth was working up and down his shaft and her tongue was doing that thing and _holy hells_. Her hands were on his hips, and her fingernails dug into his skin and the contrast between the hot wet hot slick hot of her mouth and the miniature pinpricks of her fingernails digging crescents into his skin was enough to make everything go white around the edges and –

 Then she was gone, her mouth no longer on his cock, and her hands not on his hips. There was a flush on her cheeks, and her pupils were wide, but there was a smile that rivaled his own on her lips. She licked her lips, winked at him, and then left the room. The door shutting behind her almost covered the sound of Loki’s incoherent groaning. Vaguely, she thought she heard her name follow her as she walked through the College.

 Her blood was singing in her veins as she jogged up the stairs to Urag’s usual haunt in the Library. The Orc was sitting in his usual place, looking as he usually did – upset and morose, and a little murder-y.

 “Urag, I have a question for you.”

 “I am listening.”

 “I have…I have come across a particularly interesting anomaly in the world. He holds that he is a being from another realm of existence, and I am inclined to believe that much of his story. He truly is not of Tamriel, and has yet to show signs of being untruthful with me about where he is from.”

 The Orc made a noncommittal noise, but gestured for Keshaara to continue.

 “He desires to be sent home, wherever that is. I have taken it upon myself to figure out how that would be feasible – and before today, I had thought it would require a massive spell, one that would require all of the College present to cast properly. But I had…I had a thought.”

 “A dangerous thing, for one such as you.”

 “Just so. But if I were to invoke a Daedra...if I were to invoke Jyggalag – travel to his temple, make the appropriate sacrifice of selfhood, the Prince of Order would send this anomaly back where he belongs. Perhaps it was Jyggalag that brought him here in the first place, but Jyggalag cannot deny that his presence here brings unbalance, correct?”

 “You should not have such thoughts, Keshaara. You should not, because Jyggalag could easily end you. Skyrim would be consumed, and we would all die. You would risk all of Skyrim for this one lost pup?”

 “No, I would risk my life for one lost pup. Skyrim will not fall. That causes disruption, imbalance. If Jyggalag truly did not wish for this to all come to pass, and had not read the portents of my future, I would have died with my family. I would not be here. Skyrim will not fall to the World Eater.”

 Urag sighed, rubbing his chin through his beard. Keshaara waited, hoping that her thought had not been baseless and that Urag would substantiate this otherwise mad plan of hers. Because it was madness. Hermaeus had had more of an effect on her than she would otherwise like to admit. Parts of her mind were madness, and parts of her were madness. But she still valued Urag’s opinion, and needed to know that if she was baseless in her thoughts.

 “This could work. Jyggalag should be able to be convinced of this being the appropriate course of action. But no one knows where his temple in Skyrim is, and there is nothing in any of the writings I have seen on Daedra that suggest a location. If I had time, I could investigate further. I may have missed something in my readings, as I never looked for such a thing. I would require specific books that I may not have in my collection. If I were to give you a list if I was found to be lacking, you would find them for me.”

 “Of course.”

 The orc sighed again, clearly not pleased with what was being planned.

 “Then I shall begin looking now. You must leave so I will not be distracted by your nattering.”

 Keshaara nodded and turned away. She could not let herself hope that the answer would be long in coming, because Urag gro-Shub was the most intelligent person she knew in all of Skyrim. If there was an answer to find, if there was a temple she could get to, he would find its location for her. That was one thing off her mind. Now, all she needed to do was to prepare herself mentally for the fight with Alduin that was drawing ever closer, and say her final goodbyes to everyone here.

 There was not much to do, she supposed. Most of those who knew her at the College knew her only in passing, and there was not much else they expected from her, other than to save all of Skyrim from the dangers that faced it. Some knew the extent of what she had done, some did not, but Keshaara expected another half-felt goodbye and –

 “Keszhaara! Come, we have a szurprize for you! I even found your travelling commmpanion so he can celebrate with usz!”

 J’zargo had snuck up on her as she was descending the stairs, and had rather deftly caught her arm in one of his paws.

 “I, uh, that’s fine, I don’t need to…”

 “Nonszensze! We muszt celebrate our beloved Dovahkiin! Szhe hasz done much for usz all!”

 He led her to a side room she had never snooped into before. It looked like it was a repurposed kitchen area, with a large fire in the corner pit, a gathering of twenty at the door and ten or so other people already eating and drinking. When she entered, everyone turned to her and cheered, lifting their mugs of ale in greeting.

 Keshaara’s stomach immediately twisted into a myriad of knots, and she fidgeted, but lifted a hand in greeting. Loki was standing off to the side, flanked on either side by some of the more attractive Collegiate mages, and she offered him a wan grin. J’zargo still had his hand on her arm, and was guiding her around the room, so that everyone could give her their congratulations on her life’s work, and some pressed small gifts on her. Books, trinkets, enchanted items, special talismans for luck, or against dragon’s fire, all small things that were pushed into the palm of her hand and with reluctance, she accepted them all.

 The party whirled on around her. She ate what she was offered, and had short, but meaningful conversations with everyone who approached her. One of the younger mer-girls asked for a lock of her hair for the locket she wore on her neck, and Keshaara gave her a kiss instead. A man asked for a kiss, and she gave him a smile and wink, but nothing more.

 Loki stayed away from her, not that anyone was leaving him alone either. Keshaara had never seen so many Amulets of Mara appear at once, and the poor man was clearly taken aback by the sudden offerances, if a little flattered.

 She figured he would not get himself in too much trouble and allowed J’zargo to lead her to sit atop the table.

 “Szit there for a bit. The others and I have one laszt gift for you. We worked very hard, but thisz language isz hard for szome of usz.”

 Loki in his corner perked up, looking at her. He had a maid astride his lap, and another draped over his shoulders. Keshaara shrugged at him, but looked over the gathered people. She had initially wondered why there were so many people, but they all seemed to know more than she did about what was about to come. Instruments appeared out of hidden places, and a few more people trickled into the room – people she recognized from the Skald’s college of Solitude. Unsure of what to expect, Keshaara made herself comfortable on the table, and waited.

 J’zargo tapped out a beat on his thigh, and in concert, they all started to…sing. It took her three words to understand what song they meant to recite, and three more to realize they had chosen to sing in the tongue of the Dov.

 “ _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,_  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!”

Keshaara covered her mouth as the song progressed, stunned that they had done something so difficult as to coordinate this song in a tongue none of them really understood. But not all of those assembled were singing, or playing accompaniment on the instruments. Some…some were holding what appeared to be bags or packages. _  
_

_“Huzrah nu, kul do od, wah aan bok lingrah vod,_  
Ahrk fin tey, boziik fun, do fin gein!  
Wo lost fron wah ney dov, ahrk fin reyliik do jul,  
Voth aan suleyk wah ronit faal krein”  


Those that held items began processing towards her, laying their burdens at her feet. There were bundles of furs from sabercats and bears and wolves all rolled together, in colors she had never seen. A box full of glittering gems was next, lain before her and opened reverently by someone she could have sworn was a fellow Thief from Riften. Septims glittered in pouches set beside the furs and the boxes of gems. Keshaara pressed a hand to her heart, stunned that she was receiving any of this. J’zargo smiled as he sang.

 __  
“Ahrk fin zul, rok drey kod, nau tol morokei frod,  
Rul lot Taazokaan motaad voth kein!  
Sahrot Thu'um, med aan tuz, vey zeim hokoron pah,  
Ol fin Dovahkiin komeyt ok rein!”  


Weapons were next – heirloom, enchanted weapons made of ebony, of glass, of dragon bone and scale, all lain down at her feet. She noted the presence of a few of the blacksmiths she knew, and the fact that these were weapons of unsurpassing skill and beauty. Her breath caught when she saw what could only be skyforge steel top the pile with a new war axe that made the one currently at her hip look as if it belonged to a common woodsman.

 __  
“Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!  
  
Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah, do ved viing ko fin krah,   
Tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein!  
Alduin, feyn do jun, kruziik vokun staadnau,  
Voth aan bahlok wah diivon fin lein!  
  
Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok,  
Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!  
Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot,  
Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!”  
  


The song only continued and the pile of gifts grew ever higher. Circlets and magerobes were covered over with armor that glittered and gleamed in the firelight. Leather, worked into stunning shapes and designs, clothing and books and anything that would be given to a High King as tribute, were all lain before her.

  _“Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,_  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!”

 Keshaara stood as the song ended, the pile of gifts coming nearly to her chest. She knew it would be improper to take all of them, and she had no need to utilize every last thing that had been gifted to her. J’zargo and the others all looked on expectantly, waiting to hear if she appreciated what she had been given.

 “Niid lot revakserii ofaan daar fin ov semuz – No greater gift has ever been given than the confidence of those gathered today. I thank you all for the gifts.”

 There was a cheer, and repeated chants of “Keshaara, Dovahkiin!” that followed her next few movements. She selected from the gifts those that she would personally accept – the new axe, the armors, the gems, and the books. After a moment, she grabbed a few of the circlets, and some of the finest magerobes she saw. The furs, she slung over her shoulder, and with a broad smile and another rousing cheer, Keshaara left the party.

 She did not want them to see the tears in her eyes, or to ruin their wonderful party with her sadness. They deserved to celebrate and be happy, and she really did not want to be the reason they could not do that.

 Her room greeted her with coldness and a minor surprise. Loki was still lounging on her bed, his pants still undone and halfway down his hips. Green eyes surveyed her, and a self-assured smile danced across his face. One of his hands was resting on his stomach, and as she watched, he directed it lower and lower down his body, until it was firmly nestled beneath his pants. She watched, nearly entranced as he slowly pumped a hand up and down his hardening cock. His grin only grew wider as he watched her watch him.

 “Cut it out with the illusion, Lokil. I’d prefer to not be mocked like this tonight,” she said tiredly, when the sight of Loki pleasuring himself ceased to be amusing to her. She directed a warding spell at him, and the illusive Loki vanished.

 Tiredly, she scrubbed at her face, setting down her new gifts in her trunk, leaving them for closer inspection at a later time. She changed out of her heavy armor, and into some of the new clothing she had been gifted, placing the most ornate of the circlets on her head. Because why not? No one would be coming down to see her when there was food, ale, and a party upstairs, not to mention all of the things she had not taken would be available to be claimed.

 There was much better things for those people to do than to deal with her. They had done the best thing they could think of, and it had, for the moment, made her deliriously happy. But now, all she could think of was all that there was left for her to do.

 So she took illusion-Loki’s spot on the bed, her limbs splayed out around her, reached for her bedside table where she kept most of her alcohol, and began to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, obviously, do not own the lyrics to the Song of the Dragonborn. That belongs to whoever it belongs to, and I gain nothing but some interesting plotbunnies from having it in this context. Please don't sue me.


	25. Motaad

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

It was much later than it had been before it was now, she supposed by the number of bottles that littered the ground near her bed, and the heady buzz in her brain. She felt much better already. If she kept it up, she could pass out and sleep for a day and a half, and then be done with feeling morose, consult with Urag and get Loki on his way home.

Keshaara took a deep breath, and drank the rest of the bottle of ale in her hand dry. She grabbed another bottle and started on that. She was thirsty. So thirsty. Drunkenness was befitting of her mood, and she really did not care if, or when, Loki would be returning to her. He was more than likely already engaged to half a dozen of the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes, but as long as he never went down to Riften with one of them, he would remain unmarried.

 Not that she cared. She just had to get him home. He was not a husband-potential anyway. Not for her. She knew he was going to have to leave, and she did not want to be left alone by someone like that. Not like that. Having someone you knew would be home for you was more important than anything else.

 “I miss Farkas,” she said to the empty air, her words sounding slurred and sloppy to her ears.

 It was true though. Her husband, the man she had chosen to share name, and hearth and home with, was a good man. She did not love him, not in the romantic way that have songs written about them. She was not sure that she loved him at all. But he was a good man. He was kind to her, he was a superb warrior, he was a beyond considerate lover, and he was not an unattractive man. Farkas was a good man, and being near him had become synonymous with home. Whiterun was home. Jorrvaskr was close to home, but Breezehome was just that…Breezehome was home, with her and Farkas and Lydia all together and happy and _family_.

 She sighed, and downed the rest of that bottle too. The drunken buzz was starting to become the drunken tilted earth, and she giggled. Keshaara shifted in the bed, wobbling madly when she propped herself up on one elbow, but she planted one foot firmly on the ground to stop that sort of madness. The tilting eased, leaving her splayed out on the bed, an empty bottle of ale in her hand, half propped up, in the finest clothing she had been gifted, wearing a circlet of gold studded with emeralds and peridot.

 And that was exactly how she appeared when Loki stumbled into the room. He’d clearly been drinking as well. His hair was mussed and there was a distinct pattern of flushed skin from where he had been bitten by the other women. An amulet of Mara hung from his neck, and the collar of his shirt was pulled to the side.

 He kicked the door shut behind him.

 “You know what this means, Kesh?” he slurred, prodding at the amulet around his neck.

 “Means you want a wife.”

 “ _Yeah_. Yes it does. I had so many wives tonight. Didn’t even go to the ah, Riften place. Just had a wife, and when we were done, we’d have a divorce and I’d have another wife.”

 Keshaara ‘hmm’d at him, reaching absently for her next bottled of ale. He looked good like that. She was also moderately sure that a few of the wives he’d have would start to have swollen bellies if they did not tend to the proper herbs within the day. She uncorked the bottle with a bite and a twist of her teeth. She spat the cork to the side and started drinking that.

 “Was that why your illusion was on my bed?”

 “I have… _no_ idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

 Keshaara blinked, her face blank of any emotion.

 “Well, yes, that is why. Thought I should return the favor from earlier...” he said sullenly, frowning at her.

 She smiled dreamily at him, but her lips did not move right, and it left her with a crooked, but very pleased, grin.

 “You should keep returning it then, shouldn’t you.”

 The smile on Loki’s face grew wider, and he staggered towards her. He fell atop the bed, clumsily straddling her and pinning her down. Keshaara giggled, and he kissed the tip of her nose. His amulet was heavy on her chest, and she was reminded of when she and Farkas had returned to Whiterun after their marriage.

 “Be my wife for the night, Keshaara,” he mumbled into her ear, and Keshaara shivered.

 “A wife to a Prince? You elevate me above my station.”

 Loki rocked back to look at her, confusion touching his drunken visage.

 “You are at least dressed the part. Silks and gems and green and black and gold do look so good on your skin.”

 “You have merely an eye for your own colors, I think. I will settle for being your mistress, your bedwarmer, your companion.”

 He groaned into her neck, reaching for her hands and pinning them over her head. The pressure was gentle, but insistent. She was not to try and move her hands.

 “Why must you be so difficult Kesh? You don’t…act like you should.”

 “I am Dovahkiin.”

 “I am tired of hearing that phrase. You could conquer this whole world. You could make men kneel before you with your voice alone. You could burn this world that stole so much from you. You are so much more than just that.”

 “And you, so much more than the Jotun Prince, yes. All of those things, yes. But I do not.”

 He froze, his grip on her wrists tightening. For a moment, he did nothing more than just stare down at her. She had the pleasure of watching his pupils alternate between dilated and contracted as he processed her words. His hands tightened further, and then relaxed.

 “I’m going to kiss you again, Kesh,” he mumbled, leaning down.

 “I do hope you will do more than just that.”

 He kissed her. Softly, languidly, he kissed her. And Keshaara kissed back, enjoying every second of feeling his lips press down onto hers. His lips were chapped, but that did not matter when his tongue delved into hers, and one of his hands drifted down her side to nestle in the crook of her back and pull her up into him. The kiss was unhurried, and so very different than all of their others, that Keshaara was soon dizzyingly aroused again (again), and Loki smiled into their kiss as she groaned.

 “Oh, I plan to.”

 Keshaara smiled. Loki lifted her hips up into his, holding her steady with one hand while his other kept her wrists pinned to the bed. He kissed her with force this time, ravishing her mouth with his own. His tongue delved deep into her mouth, and he swallowed down her appreciative moan when his teeth caught her lips. They kissed for a long while, never separating from each other for more than a heartsbeat, before being drawn back together to kiss again. His hand, holding her hips up into his, slowly lowered her back down to the bed, but his own hips still ground into hers.

 Once a connection was established between their bodies, they were loathe to be apart. His hand would not leave her waist, even as he started to grind his body against hers, her mouth would not leave his, not even to draw air. Everywhere they touched, even through layers of clothing, only spurred them further on.

 She felt something wrap around her wrists, rough like rope, but moving sinuously like a snake. Keshaara broke the kiss to look up, and was surprised to see a brown-green rope knotted around her wrists. The rope shimmered with a green light, and she knew it to be magically-summoned. It felt very real on her hands, and when she tugged at them, there was the appropriate amount of resistance.

 “Loki- _il_?” she gasped, as he nipped at her neck.

 “Can you not call me that horrendous name while we’re doing this, Keshaara?” he mumbled into her neck, sweeping a hand backwards towards the door. “No one else will hear us. I can make sure of that.”

 She was really only vaguely aware of what he was saying. She was drunk and aroused and her mind was more than just a little bit scattered. However, she did still understand the basic gist of what he was saying.

 His freed hand touched her face gently, and tilted her head to the side. The stippling of bite-scars marred her neck, and he traced them all with a caress. Keshaara shivered again, straining vainly against the ropes that he had placed on her.

 “ _Loki_.”

 She could feel his smile pressed into her skin, and she growled. He was mocking her in some way, she was certain, but her world was spinning and there was no way for her to try and stabilize anything in her mind. Loki did not stop touching her, kissing her neck, nibbling at her ear, running his hand down her side and lifting her back up into him whenever the mood struck him. He had free reign of her body, but did nothing more than layer kisses over the scars that traced her neck and shoulders and hold her body tightly to his.

 It was absolutely maddening.

 There was a fire deep in her belly and all he was doing was stoking the flames. He was not allowing the conflagration to consume her, just added more fuel to it. She arched her back, and drew her elbows close in to her face, trapping Loki’s head for a moment before he wriggled away, his hair mussed and a smile on his face, still.

 Keshaara frowned at him, and pointedly jerked her hips up into his again. She was growing impatient of his teasing. He chuckled at her, and trailed both his hands down her still-clothed front.

 Cupping her breasts in his hands, he leaned back over her, his smile only growing the wider.

 “I could make you a Queen. You are dressed as one, and I,” he shimmered, and was all at once dressed in such exquisitely fine clothing that Keshaara could not help the choking gasp that was wrenched from her throat. A crown to match her own rested on his tousled black hair, and every last part of his attire was made to complement the clothing she was _still_ wearing. “I can dress as one as well.”

 “A Crown does make a King, Loki,” she slurred, not minding that his thumbs were rubbing over her clothed nipples as she talked.

 “But when it is writ into your skin? What of it then? When the crown is so much a part of you that there is no escaping it?”

 His voice was soft, and almost pained. As she watched, the glamour’d clothing faded from him, leaving him in the same clothing he had worn to the party. His pale skin, even, faded to the deep, frosty blue of his Jotun form. Keshaara ached to be able to touch him. Those scars, those markings, they called to her and she wanted to feel them beneath her hands again and trace their entirety. His body had so much more to explore, and Keshaara wanted to know the entirety of him.

 “You live to make yourself worthy of it.”

 It was the only answer she had. Loki sagged, collapsing down into her. His skin was freezingly cold on her own and she gasped. Her body reacted almost immediately, reaching for something deep inside her. It was a product of being too drunk to regulate everything appropriately, but her skin turned a similar shade of blue, and all at once, the cold was not a problem.

 Loki moaned into her neck, rubbing his fingers down the scars that had raised up out of her skin. Words tumbled from his mouth, broken words that spoke of sorrow, but words she did not know. She could not comfort him with her hands tied, and even when she tried, nothing more happened.

 She did the next best thing she could think of, and with a rather well-practiced arch of her back and twist of her hips, she toppled him, and sent him falling onto his side, with her straddling his hips. The blue color faded from her skin with their separation, and Loki made a low growl of protestation. With her hands still tied, but now held in front of her, she could do nothing more than rock her hips against his.

 His skin was still blue, and he reached for her again, grabbing the ropes that were knotted around her wrists and pulling her down so he could kiss her. The kiss was slow and lingering, as if he were hesitant to let her go. His tongue was cold in her mouth and she felt the shiver of that odd reaction rock through her until the cold did not bother her and all she was only bothered by the fact that their scents did not match. The feral side of her wanted her scent rubbed into his and his rubbed all over hers. She sat up, away from him, but he was careful to keep his hands on her own, so that that delightful _royal_ blue did not fade from her so quickly.

 The circlet she still wore was lopsided on her head, and with a quick shake, she dislodged it, sending it flying across the room. Loki laughed, and she smiled down at him. Her clothes, like so many other things before them were thrown from her body with a flick of her hair. She was as naked as the day she had been born, sitting astride a fully clothed Loki, her hands bound with intricate, magicked knots, and her skin was as blue as his.

 He groaned appreciatively at the sight, and Keshaara smiled down at him.

 “Get your clothes off, Loki.”

 “You are on my lap.”

 “So I am. Get your clothes _off_ or I shall have them off myself.”

 He smirked.

 “I’d like to see you try.”

 The world tipped around her, and the thought caught all sorts of fire inside of her. She wiggled backwards, down his legs, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. He watched, propping himself up on an elbow to see just what Keshaara would do. She bent low over her knees, until her head was, again, hovering over his crotch. His eyes widened, but he said nothing. She nuzzled his shirt up his belly, keeping her hands and tied wrists resting on his chest.

 Idly, and perhaps reverently, Loki stroked her hands with the hand he wasn’t using to prop himself up. She bit the laces of his pants, pulling them apart with a small smile. Leaning slightly to the side, Keshaara smiled crookedly at Loki, enjoying that he was enjoying this as much as she was. She leaned back into him, her nose nudging the stiff column just underneath his pants. With a wicked smile, she opened her mouth and mouthed his cock through the layers he wore. He groaned, and before he could grab her hands to stop her movement, she pulled her bound hands down, grabbed the hem of his pants, and much like her clothes had done, his flew off his body to land elsewhere in the room.

 Now bared to the air, Keshaara could not help but take a moment to appreciate all of the intricate scars that drew lines across Loki’s body. Down his sides, across his stomach, over his thighs, from the crown of his head, all the way to his toes, the lines traced intricacies. She sighed, and went back to his cock. Small amounts of precum had leaked out onto his stomach, and with a grin, she lapped at it. Loki’s scarlet red eyes were nearly bugging out of his head and he held his breath as, once again, Keshaara took his cock deep into her mouth. But this time she was as naked as he was, and her skin was as blue as his and her hands were tied and that made it all the more delightful.

 “Kesh, _Kesh_ , oh, by the Nines, _Kesh_.”

 His litany continued as she worshipped his cock with her mouth. Up and down and up and down again, and her lips and tongue did their very best to memorize every bulge and vein of his length. Loki had never thought that anyone would ever, not like this, not with this, not any way like this.

 And just like before, she drew away just as he felt everything in him wind up. He groaned, long and loud at the sudden lack of that delicious, wet, writhing heat around him. Keshaara leaned up and kissed him again, and looped her bound hands around the back of his neck. She pulled him upright, kissing him deeply. He still tasted of cold and smelled of juniper, even if the day in her baths back at Markarth was well and far from them.

 Slowly, she slid up his leg, until her hips were directly above his once again. Even slower, she rocked her sopping wet cunt across his cock, letting him feel her. She kissed him fiercely, using the ropes on her wrists to force him closer and closer to him, not caring that both of them were making obscene sounds of pleasure that would undoubtedly be reverberating through the Apprentice Quarters.

 Loki fumbled to push Keshaara up onto her knees, so that he could get his cock finally lined up with her vagina, and after a few moments of gently probing her depths with his fingers (just to feel her, just to rub her smell a bit further into his flesh), he pushed her down onto his length.

 Keshaara moaned, long and low as Loki filled her. Loki’s voice rose to meet hers. They were stilled, enjoying the feeling of this connection. She kissed him again, sweetly, moving her tongue in soothing circles inside his mouth. Loki let her control the kiss, enjoying the feeling of her tongue on his, and her mouth sealed to his. His hands roamed up and down her sides, feeling out the markings on her sides.

 So it was Keshaara who started moving, slowly at first, reacclimating herself to feeling him inside of her, savoring it this time. Her hips moved in a deliberately even cantor, and she looked directly into Loki’s eyes as she moved. There was nothing so fine as this, not in all the wide world of Tamriel. She kept Loki pressed close to her as well as she could manage with her hands bound.

 Again, they kissed. She had meant to give him a simple peck as she continued riding him, but that had been almost the exact opposite of what ended up happening. Loki pulled her head down to his and kissed her savagely. Teeth and tongue featured heavily in his kiss. He bit her lips, sucking them between his teeth in time with her gyrations on top of him. She moaned into his mouth when she felt her lips bruising.

 He fondled her breasts, rolling her nipples in between his fingertips, pressing her breasts together and letting them fall from his hands, only to hold them all over again. Her back arched to better present her chest to him, but it halted them from kissing any more. In return, however, Keshaara rode him more frantically, chasing the blossoming feeling in her belly. She wanted to feel the sweet release of orgasm, and as much as she enjoyed riding Loki, she really was rather searching for her own release, and cared not much at all for his own orgasm.

 Loki bit her collarbone, softly at first, but then again with the intensity of a vampire’s own bite. She felt her skin break, and blood start to pour out of her. Her oncoming orgasm crashed through her, spurred by the sudden deviance from genteel sex. Loki was nearly deafened by Keshaara’s scream of pleasure, and his answering grunts as her cunt milked him were easily drowned out.

 His ears were still ringing from her screams of pleasure when he came down from his own release. He could hear her muttering words, but they were not the words of a language he knew. He recognized a few words, and knew them to be the tongue of the dragons again, but shortly enough, she was babbling endearments in the language they now shared.

 “Oh, Loki, _Loki_ , Divines, Loki. Loved that, Loki.”

 She nuzzled his neck affectionately, still rocking her hips against his.

 “ _More_ Loki. Please _more_.”

 Her voice was plaintive, and he smiled at her. Loki stroked her hair, and ran a hand down her back, feeling the ridges of her fading blue skin. He drew his glamour back around him, his pale skin replacing the blue, and Keshaara’s followed suit. But he did not, not in all of his devious imaginings, think that the words that came next he would ever hear. She had nuzzled his neck, and her mouth was pressed to the shell of his ear when those words came.

 “My _King_ , please?”

 Keshaara drew away from him, just enough so that she could look at him. Loki’s eyes rolled in his head and he groaned, long and low in his chest. Disregarding the blood that leaked from her collarbone, he nuzzled her neck, smearing the blood everywhere. He grabbed her around the hips and twisted, pushing Keshaara onto her back while remaining inside of her the entire time.

 “Again, Keshaara,” he whispered against her lips, thrusting inside of her.

 “King, please. _My_ King, I beg you, please, more.”

 His moans soon drowned out her platitudes, and the sounds of him thrusting into her soon joined suit. He pulled one of her legs up over his shoulders, forcing her into a contorted ball, as her arms were still looped behind his neck.  But the change in angle, the sudden increase in tempo hit an entirely new place deep inside of her. Keshaara gasped, and as he continued to pound into that one new spot, her gasps rose into screams again.

 Her screams felt like they were tearing her throat apart, but he did not stop, no Loki only went faster, and harder, his own moans rising up with hers.

 She was falling towards a second, even greater orgasm and as bound up and bent over as she was there was nothing she could do to control anything about what was happening and that only made her burn all the brighter beneath him before she shattered into a thousand pieces of Oblivion, and Loki shattered with her.

 It was a few minutes later when she came back to coherency, gasping beneath Loki’s weight, her hands still wrapped around the back of his neck and her leg still hooked over his shoulder. Loki was roused by her vain half-struggles, and a wave of his hand banished the rope from her wrist. No longer bound, her hands fell to either side of her head, and she was free enough to slide her leg off his shoulder.

 Loki was soft inside her now, but he was still inside of her and that was just wonderful. Keshaara’s wrists felt achey and raw, and she rubbed them gently, to feel out any broken skin. She did not mind the rope-burn, not really. She rubbed her cheek against Loki’s, smiling tiredly all the way.

 Loki groaned as he rolled off of her, and Keshaara wiggled herself under the mussed blankets of her bed, not minding the heat in her stomach, or the cum leaking down her thighs. She was content, satisfied, and sleepy. Loki followed suit, turning on his side so that he could sling an arm and one of his legs over her form and pull her close in to him. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and with an exhausted laugh, Keshaara blew a lock of hair out of his face, wriggled deeper into his embrace, and allowed herself to fall into a deep sleep, with no fear that a Daedra would come for her in the night.


	26. Yah

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

She woke up warm. She could feel Loki’s arm slung over her waist, pulling her back tight against him. Sometime during the night she had turned onto her side and he had curled up right behind her. His legs and hers were tangled together, and his head was right at the back of her neck. His breath tickled her, now that she was alert enough to feel it, and Keshaara giggled softly.

 Loki mumbled sleepily, and pulled her tight against his body. They were both as naked as they had been when they slept, and as delightful as having his skin against hers felt, Keshaara rather wanted to bathe. She tried to edge away from him slowly, pushing his arm down her hips to try and wriggle out that way. He grunted, and was roused.

 Figuring his alert state would allow her to extract herself easier, Keshaara pushed his hand further down her waist so she could make a move to roll out of bed and redress herself. That did not happen, however. Loki moved his hand down to the juncture of her thighs to stroke her clit lazily.

 “Nngh, Loki. Please, I’d like to get bathed and have some food f-fih-first-t.”

 Her voice broke as he insistently stroked her clit. He kissed her shoulder, and reached down to press a finger inside of her. Keshaara gasped, and her hips bucked rather instinctively. Loki smiled and nuzzled her ear as he continued. He was not doing much more than unhurriedly pumping a finger in and out of her, occasionally running his thumb over her clit.

Rather quickly, she was dripping all over his hand, and trying vainly to hold back her gasps and shortened moans of pleasure. Loki was just fine with that, and kept his tauntingly slow, even teasing of his current bedmate. Keshaara’s moans only grew in frequency and desperation as he continued. The volume of her screams rose, her sore throat disagreeing with the sounds she was making, but there was no helping it. She was achingly horny and desperate for something more than a single finger inside of her.

“You’ll have to ask for it, Kesh,” Loki whispered in her ear, his voice low and raspy.

 Keshaara whined, throwing her head back and trying to grind her ass against the throbbing hard cock she could feel jutting against her ass. The smell of sex that had faded during the evening they had slept wafted back through the room, and it was enough to send her spiraling down into a needy rutting heat. She craved him, but she was too proud to give in so easily. She was not going to ask Loki for anything.

 Loki huffed an amused laugh from behind her, and for a moment, his hand left her cunt. Keshaara sagged, relieved to no longer have Loki’s hand and arm pinning her in place. Even if she was dizzy with arousal, she had a chance to get up and get her day going. She could take care of herself in the baths if she had to.

 Keshaara did not get far before Loki’s arm wrapped around her and pulled her flush against him again. He pulled her left leg up just the slightest bit and all at once his cock was rubbing between her legs, and just barely brushing up against her cunt. Slowly, tauntingly slowly, he rocked his hips back and forth, and Keshaara could only just barely feel the head of his cock brushing over her sensitive, wet, slit.

 Her groans grew in intensity, and she could not help but grind herself against him. Again, his hand sought out her sensitive clit, and he flicked it lazily, timing his thrusts with every movement he made.

 “All you have to do is _ask_ , Keshaara, and I’ll give it to you.”

 His voice was absolute sin in her ear, and the only response she could formulate was a long, drawn out moan. She wanted him. She ached for him. All of her thoughts were centered on him. Him, his cock, his fingers, his mouth, his touch, his cock, Divines, his cock again. She wanted it. She wanted his cock inside of her, and he knew that. He knew that, damn him, but he was going to make her ask for it.

 Keshaara rocked her hips against his cock as much as she could with Loki holding her still, whimpering words that were nowhere near what he wanted to hear. He wanted to hear her beg for him to be inside of her. He wanted that satisfaction from her. Loki craved that satisfaction from her almost as much as he craved to flip her onto her stomach and take her from behind. But that would come soon.

 “Come, my Queen. Just ask me, and I will give you everything you want. I promise, and all you have to do is just a-”

 “Fucking _hells_ , Loki, just fuck me already,” Keshaara bit out, too tired to try and hold back her need. “I want you inside me, I need you inside me, _fuck me please_ Loki.”

 He grunted in acquiescence and rolled them both over so that Keshaara was lying on her stomach, and he was on top of her. It took a mere second of repositioning before he thrust all the way deep inside of her. Keshaara screamed in pleasure, and Loki pounded into her as best he could with the awkward angle. She was wet and blistering hot around him, and he wanted to feel _more_.

 Loki stopped for only a moment (to Keshaara’s great vocal disapproval) so he could pull Keshaara’s hip up, leaving her on her knees, with her face still pressed into the pillow beneath her. He thrust back into her cunt, and did not stop. This was not soft and gentle, nor was it anything other than desperately seeking their own orgasms. Keshaara had reached down to finger her clit as Loki thrust madly inside of her. She tumbled over the edge first, screaming Loki’s name as she came.

 Her cunt clamped down around him, and Loki moaned long and low as his own orgasm rushed upon him. His cum filled her still-spasming cunt, and Keshaara groaned again at the feeling of his cool cum rushing through her otherwise overheated body.

 Loki was slow to draw himself from her, and almost immediately missed her heat against him. He felt nearly cold in fact, which was odd for him. There was an unusual urge to bring her back close to him, but Keshaara was already climbing out of the bed and dressing herself, giving little attention to the thin line of his cum dripping down her thigh. The sight made him horny all over again, but the Dovahkiin was already dressed, and brushing her hair back into a simple braid.

 She was still panting as she dressed, however, and when she looked back to Loki, she could see his still-dilated pupils and his half-erect cock straining towards hardness. He was still in her bed, her blankets half-wrapped around him, looking at her with unfiltered desire. Her knees went weak. She wanted nothing more than to strip back out of her fine clothes and pin him back to her bed, but there were things to do and her duty called to her and Urag may have already found a lead.

 Oh, but he was so beautiful. Leanly muscled, with pale skin and green eyes and dark hair and a face that was designed for kissing. Divines did she want to _do_ things to him. With him. Around him. Near him. On him.

 Keshaara stared, trying to make herself go when all she wanted to do was stay. He was novel, he was addictive in some sick way, and Keshaara knew that succumbing to her addictions was far more her style than resisting them. She craved more of him, but there was duty to be done.

 And she was, after all, Dovahkiin.

 So she swallowed her arousal, and tried to make herself think of anything other than the cum that was leaking out of her and how much she wanted him to keep fucking her voiceless. It did not truly work, but it was enough to get her to look away from his…everything, and make the decision to head out.

 “Mmmnh, I’m going to talk to Urag and see if he has anything. We…we should head out as soon as he knows, or has an idea. I mean, if you want to come with me. You can stay here if you like, or come with me.”

 She was rambling, she knew it, but her mind was still firmly centered elsewhere (‘elsewhere’ being, of course, all around Loki’s cock) and it was hard to form sentences, let alone coherent paragraphs of words.

 “I do enjoy coming with you, Keshaara. I will come wherever you lead me.”

 She smiled. He was very clever with his words.

 “Breakfast should be served where the party was, or nearabout. If you want to talk or sit in on some lectures, please feel free. You can learn much in a single day here, if you pay attention…and perhaps, do not wear the amulet of Mara.”

 Loki hummed at her, and she very quickly left the room, shutting the door behind her and praying that she did not look too sex-ravaged. Urag was disparaging enough, and she did not need him to think her _that_ crazed.

 Keshaara took a deep, stabilizing breath, and again, made the trip up to the Library to meet with Urag. He was, as ever, standing behind his desk, though today, many of the books that had once been there were displaced with what appeared to be a large map of Skyrim. He had a single book in his hand, and he was looking between the book and the map, pouring over them both with equal intensity.

 She stood to the side, waiting patiently for him to acknowledge her and allow her to advance towards him. She did not fidget or make any unneeded movements, just stood as still as possible, and waited. Eventually, Urag looked up, and spotted her. He gestured for her to come closer, and pointed to a spot on the map.

 “What many of my readings suggest is that there was once a temple or shrine to Jyggalag, but it has since been lost. Not many worship him here, and that is why it is hard to truly track down where he could have been.  But it would, logically, be located somewhere near the center of Skyrim. Jyggalag likes being centered in all things, and as the Prince of Order, it would make sense that he would be near the middle of all things. Windhelm Hold is the most likely location, then. With a little research, and with that in mind, I believe that there are but a few possible locations for his hidden Shrine to be. I marked the locations on the map. If you have been to any of these -”

 “Three of these four I have already visited and there was no shrine there,” Keshaara said, advancing on the map and pointing. “This last one, however, I am unfamiliar with. If this is the best bet, I shall investigate it and perhaps bring an end to this story. Thank you, Urag.”

 The orc nodded, and began rolling up the map.

 “May I bother you to purchase a few of the books? I have a need…”

 Urag laughed at her in his peculiar way, but gestured to the books he was willing to sell, and allowed her to look through them. She pulled a few to the side, and laughed with Urag noted she already had copies of most of the chosen books.

 “I know that, Urag. They are not for myself, but my companion, who has many questions that are asked improperly.”

 “I understand the frustration that brings. Take the books. May your path be easy, Dovahkiin.”

 Keshaara nodded, but still waited for Urag to turn away before putting a handful of septims on the table as thanks. With her books in arm, and a new location in mind, she walked back down the stairs, content that things were progressing not only as they should, but as would be best for all those involved. Loki would get to return home, hopefully to a family that he could mend whatever had been broken with them.

 She jogged down the stairs and all the way back to her room, stomping her feet to dislodge the snow that had accumulated on her in the brief moments she had been outside. The door to her room was still closed when she approached it, and with a kick, she fixed that problem neatly.

 “Lokil, I found some books I thought you might – Lokil?”

 There was no one else in her room. His clothing was picked up off the floor, and presumably on him, but he was nowhere to be seen. Keshaara knew that nothing untoward would happen to him (save for the shenanigans he wanted to get up to himself) while he was at Winterhold. He should have a day to explore her world freely, without fear that she would come by again, and she should have the same.

 Her room though, was a mess. So she set to cleaning it, after setting her armload of books atop her chest, she went about straightening everything up. The bed was made, her strewn-about possessions were reorganized, her armor was placed on a mannequin, her new possessions were categorized and organized as needed, and the pile of books grew a bit larger as she selected books from her own collection to give to Loki. There were books about the Daedra and Aedra, the Book of the Dragonborn, some history books and a larger number of books on magic – things she thought Loki had interest in. She packed all of the books in a new pouch, a rather ornate one that she had never seen any use for before. Loki, on the other hand, could use it.

 Smiling, Keshaara left the pouch near her armor, intending to come back with Loki and present him the books at a later time. She had her own things to do in Winterhold. There were always new things to learn, new armors to make, and mysteries to uncover.

 She left her room clean and organized, and went to go speak with the other college members to ascertain what new strides had been made in magic as of late. There would be time to tell Loki what their plan was…later. For today, though, Keshaara rather liked the idea of just being on her own to do her own thing.


	27. Hahnu

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

Loki nearly missed her when she walked by. He was just finishing observing a lecture in one of the great halls of this college, and he saw a young woman flanked on either side by a Khajiit and a Nord, talking animatedly as she lead them on their way. It took him far too long to recognize the simply dressed, non-armored woman as Keshaara. The Keshaara he knew had a nearly permanent crease in between her eyebrows, a tight mouth and a taut posture. The woman who brushed past him was bright and smiling openly, and not a single part of her looked as if it was tensed.

 Her conversation was going at an astounding pace, swapping effortlessly between multiple languages as she and her partners found that certain languages transmitted ideas better. He only knew the one language Keshaara had used previously, and had somewhat of a sense of the language she had said her fathers had spoken, but the rest of the hodgepodge of languages was absolutely foreign to him. That did not seem to bother her partners, as they responded in kind.

 He watched her go, still chatting and gesticulating with both her hands as she outlined some concept or another. This was a place of magic and solemn revelry in magic. He had learnt much about the world called Tamriel by just listening to the lectures on magic given. There were many things that were different between Tamriel and Asgard, most noteably the difference in the way magic was treated. Yes, there was constant chastisements towards being cautious lest the great cataclysm that destroyed most of Winterhold come again, but there was also nearly unlimited potential still in the world.

 There was so much that they looked forward to in this world. There was no limitation, no natural stopping point excepting that which was beyond their own ability. But there were no people who earnestly barred others from learning. If you were a mage, you were accepted here. It did not matter the color of the skin (or scales, in the case of the Argonians) or gender, or lack of gender, or anything – magic was magic, and if a mage was present then there was reason to celebrate and learn.

 Loki rather liked this college. He liked learning about this new way to do magic, and the meaning behind the different colors and the different schools of magic, and all the things that were involved in it, but…watching Keshaara talk with those he could only assume were his friends made a familiar sharp pang of jealousy rush through him.

 But he did not say anything to her, nor did he lift a hand in greeting. He watched her walk on, away from him, anger bubbling up underneath his skin. Even here, he was ignored.

 Keshaara, for her part, was deep in a philosophical conversation about the potential to have an unlimited pool of magicka contained inside a single being – no need to ever take a potion or philter to regain lost magicka quicker, as it was always there and never away. If it were possible, her argument went, then they would be counted as Gods, for what else makes the Divines Divine than the fact that their magicka, even so depleted from the creation of Nirn was enough to sustain it indefinitely. Surely that indicates something as close to infinity as attainable.

 The Khajiit to her left, a female by the name of Ra’ara was arguing that the Divines could not even come close to having infinite magicka at their disposal, that the nature of infinity as understood by their mortal minds could not reconcile with the fact that the Divines, and even the Daedra, tired and grew weary from lack of magicka. To her, the idea of an infinitely deep well (the words of Jorah to Keshaara’s right) that was not infinitely replenished was just a hole that was dug too deeply. If truly infinite magicka existed, it was not for any other than the most supreme of all beings to possess. Her argument continued that there was no need for infinite magicka, that the merest virtue of constantly stretching yourself and taxing the magicka you could naturally hold within you would eventually lead to the point where magicka potions did nothing more than throw another bucket of water into an ocean. Oceans that were, of course, not infinite, but did seem to be from a limited point of view. Just because one could not drink the entirety of the ocean did not mean that the ocean was infinite.

 Jorah, meanwhile made the argument for the fact that infinity already existed in everyone and the reason they never seemed to experience it was merely because there was no one brave enough to reach past what felt like the uncomfortable emptiness of their own magicka reserves and break through the last wall. He assumed that the infinity Keshaara doubted the existence of was merely hiding from easy accessibility. If you did not fight hard enough against your own limitations, Jorah reasoned that there was no reason for infinity to be yours.

 The conversation was heated, but well-intentioned. It was the sort of argument you got into with some of your closer friends, just to test out their verbal sparring skills in an open and friendly arena. She was smiling and enjoying everything going on around her. She was genuinely enjoying this brief break from being Dovahkiin. She was just Keshaara, of Morrowind, student of the College and known to be master of magicka. She was still a wonderful human bein, but she was just another Nord at the college.

 She was not even wearing her armor.

 She felt so light on her feet without the nearly one hundred pounds of steel and leather weighing her down. Keshaara, of course had lighter armors she could wear as well, but she preffered the hefty comfort of heavy armor. It was an easier burden to bear the armor than it was to bear the duty of Dovahkiin.

 “Keszhaara!”

 She turned, politely excusing herself from the conversation that Jorah and Ra’ara were still embroiled in. The other Khajiit embraced her fondly, wrapping both arms around her, his tail sweeping up to touch her elbow.

 “Yes, J’zargo?”

 “You left the party early laszt night. Is everything good with you?”

 “Yes, of course it is. I just did not think the party was where I should be. You know how much people have a better time when I am not around. The Dovahkiin inspires much, but a party atmosphere is not one of them. I am sure one day, I will tend to one of my own parties, truly.”

 She talked with a smile that did not reach her eyes, and even the Khajiit could tell her lie for what it was. Of course she did not like leaving her own parties, but there was not much choice. People were restrained around her more often than not, especially in large groups when she did not necessarily know everyone there. The Dovhakiin was a Very Big Deal to many people, and if she was truly the Last Dragonborn, as foretold by the Prophecy, using her as a way to curry favors with others was all but expected. As sweet as the party had been, it had not been for her.

 “Purrrhapsz you should come to our old meeting roomsz then. After dinner. Szmall party thisz time. Yeszterday was proper, tonight is decidedly not. We szhall have our own party, with the uszual lack of rulesz.”

 Keshaara smiled, and nodded.

 “After dinner then. I will see you there.”

 J’zargo left, Keshaara smiled after him, and in the distance, Loki snarled.

 

* * *

 

When night had come, with still not sign of Loki, Keshaara ventured back to her room. He was not there either. Perhaps one of his wives had remarried him.

She shrugged, and wrote him a short note, in case he came back to the room.

 

  _Went to the sub-basement for second party._

_Will be back at a later time._

_We leave tomorrow for Whiterun_

_-Keshaara_

 

 It was enough of a note, really. She folded it so that it would sit up on the bed, easily visible from the door, and with a smile, went to where J’zargo had arranged for her to meet him. She opened the door, and once again, was greeted with a cheer. But unlike the night before, there were only a handful of people sitting around a simple cook fire, welcoming her back to the circle where they had spent many nights before, studying together, or practicing the new spells they learned.

She accepted a bowl of the evening stew, a roll of bread, and sat in the circle around the fire. There was a moment of silence, as Keshaara looked over those assembled – her closest friends that were here at Winterhold, and knew in her heart that she may not see them again. Alduin was closer than he had been, she could feel that in her bones.

 But she breathed that tenseness away from her and smiled at her friends.

 There was a long while of comfortable silence, and when the conversations started, Keshaara let the words blow her away. She liked this. Her cheeks hurt from smiling shortly enough, and when the time for eating was done, the silly little campside games began. There were word games, and mind games, and soon enough Keshaara was laughing so hard that she fell backwards, holding her stomach.

 “J’zargo, _please_! You can’t just say such a thing with a straight face!” she half-chastised through her laughter. The Khajiit had a propensity for terrible jokes and even worse puns, and were puns ever Keshaara’s weakness.

 The sun had long since set outside the room, but inside, it was laughter and camaraderie and not a small amount of drinking. Keshaara got herself good and tipsy for the second time in as many days, and the only thing they were talking about were things that made them laugh – the time Keshaara had been turned green, or when J’zargos scrolls had all but lit her on fire. When J’zargo had been accidentally transformed into a kitten for a week and a half and had to put up with incessant baby talking from everyone at the college. And on and on and on it went, with only the most happiest of memories being discussed amongst friends.

 There was more drinking, and a drinking game that involved mimicking the entire group of people simultaneously and having to drink if you were the last persons to catch on to the change. Keshaara started off strong, but that was a game that once it began to be lost, you really lost.

 She loosened the collar of her robes, unbuttoning them as the temperature in the room seemed to rise. This was what she wanted though. She wanted the uproarious laughter, the friendships, the moment to think that she could have a family here too, to look at her friends and know that their futures were bright and glittering before them. Keshaara liked that.

 “Keshaara, you should sing for us! We haven’t heard you sing since you started at the Skald’s college!”

 She shook herself out of her momentary trance, looking to the person who had suggested such a thing with the slightest bit of fear.

 “Uhn, I’m not much of a singer. I’ll dance, but my voice is not much improved by my tenure there…”

 There was an uproar, and quite the bit of cajoling from all assembled. All at once, the idea of Keshaara singing was the best idea the partiers could think of, and she was pushed and pinched and needled until she relented with a simple: “I will sing…but I don’t know any happy songs.”

 Behind her, a door opened, and Loki poked his head in. J’zargo saw him, and gestured for him to stay still. Loki frowned, but complied. Keshaara was too far in her cups to notice the tacit communications going on around her, and sat tall.

 Her voice was, at first, tremulous, but it gained strength. She chose to sing in the dragon-tongue, not trusting herself to sing anything that they could hear and be saddened by. Even if they had sung to her in dov before, she was not so certain that they could truly understand the words if she sang them. The language may be one that drew certain reactions, and certainly, it would affect them as easily as it would in their own native tongues, but Keshaara would rather them feel the song than hear it and be able to remember it.

 So she worked her way through the first part of the song, singing softly of the loss of family. It was a dirge – all she had skill in singing were dirges. Her who life was one long drawn out period of mourning, so it made sense to her at least that she could only manage to sing properly when she sang of sorrow and loss.

 The song was a personal, not of her own writing, but still one that meant much and more to her. Despite the sorrow in the song, the words and the cantor sounded fast and lively – sorrow was not always slow, sometimes it was sharp and biting and this song was about that pain. She idly tapped out the beat on her thighs, and J’zargo took up the beat as well, faltering only momentarily as he learned the pattern.

 Keshaara smiled at him around the words of sorrow in her mouth, and nodded to let him know he had it right as soon as he fell into the proper rhythm.

 Her voice grew in strength, the words unfamiliar to all gathered, save for her. There was no real outline to the song, merely Keshaara singing of what had been lost, and of what she still had left to lose. She saw tears in some of their eyes, but hers were dry. She knew what was at risk. She knew what she was doing, as much as that was possible. So she sang of lost loves, lost families, lost cities and towns and names and clans, all of the things that had been stripped from the world too soon, all of the things that she had lost with no reason other than destiny given for their taking.

 She finished her song, and nodded at J’zargo.

 “…And a dance, Keszhaara?” he offered hesitantly, jerking his head back to the table behind him.

 Keshaara narrowed her eyes, concerned if this was some sort of trap. She did not usually dance, but she was drunk enough that it was a good idea, and she had made her friends feel sad by her song.

 “Well I have no music to dance to, J’zargo. I think a song is enough. ”

 “I thought Aszhlanders made their muszic as they danced.”

 Keshaara blinked.

 “I think you have done entirely too much research into my origins, J’zargo. I had forgotten how dastardly clever you are. Yes, you are correct. I do not have the appropriate…ah, but I am sure you have managed that as well, haven’t you?”

 J’zargo grinned, and held up a bag.

 “I cannot help it. You needed to remember where you were from, Dovahkiin. I wanted to remind you, before you were taken from us to go seek Alduin and your fate.”

 Keshaara took a moment to process what he was saying. She considered, for a moment, taking offense, and walking away, leaving her friends behind and not allowing them to share part of what had made her who she was in that instant, but the thought passed and with a shake of her head, she stood, reaching out for what J’zargo offered her.

 “You do know that Ashlanders don’t dance like you think we do, right? Those scarves and veils you see are not what is worn.”

 J’zargo waved her concerns away, and pointed to the darkest corner of the room for her to change. As soon as Keshaara turned her back, the Khajiit turned to Loki and gestured for him to come sit in the circle of friends.

 Loki moved like smoke, sitting himself down next to J’zargo. There was a brief round of ‘hallo’s directed at him from the various people seated in the circle. Not much else was said. He watched as some wiped tears from their eyes, even as a reverently quiet conversation started again.

 “You are Lokil, asz Keszhaara introduced you, yesz?”

 “Yes, that is I.”

 “It isz, I think, not. You will take care of her. Szhe will not let usz accompany her to battle, and methinksz you have that honor. Protect her when szhe cannot – _will not_ protect herszelf.”

 Loki narrowed his eyes at the Khajiit. J’zargo met his gaze evenly, and Loki had no way of knowing what was hiding behind those eyes. He had no experience in reading the expressions of these feline people. Keshaara had warned him, though, and he thought that he may need to listen to her more carefully in the future.

 There was a jangle, and the chime of bells, and all at once, Keshaara was atop the table. Well, she was handstanding atop the table, her feet balanced precariously over her head. Both of her ankles were adorned with bells, and there were silver baubles in her hair. She bent her elbows and let her feet come parallel with the table. The stretch and burn felt wonderful, and it was a great prelude to actually dancing. She did not look to the others gathered, but went immediately into the only dance she could find appropriate.

 She moved with grace, even if the dance itself was not graceful. She danced with her eyes closed, feeling the rhythm she made with her own body, and moving in the ways Ashlanders had taught her to.

 She shook her head from side to side, and danced. Her movements were jerky, broken, and cyclical. Each step bled into the next, and she danced a circle atop the table. But it was the way Ashlanders danced, and the blissful smile on her face told everyone just what she thought of the dance.

 Loki thought it was odd. The dance seemed to follow no rhythm other than her own, and the steps were stuttering, not at all like the smooth courtly dances he had been taught back on Asgard. It looked far more like a dance styled after a wounded bird than anything else, but it was still entrancing.

 Keshaara danced for a while, and when she was done, she opened her eyes, winked at the assembled people (with a momentary stutter when she saw Loki) and swept her own clothing back on. There was a smattering of applause that followed her back to the circle.

 “Thank you for entertaining dance, Keszhaara. I know that we all appreciate what you do for usz.”

 She smiled at J’zargo.

 “Thank you for asking me to perform. I do so love being told to dance for other people’s whims.”

 J’zargo had the decency to look chastised, but her smile disarmed the feeling of shame. She walked around the circle, until she was standing just in front of Loki. She moved his hands off his knees, where they had been resting and without much ado, sat neatly in his lap. Loki made a surprised noise under his breath, and Keshaara shushed him with a press of her fingers to his lips.

 “So where were we in this conversation? Surely we’ve gotten the arts out of the way….”

 J’zargo laughed and nodded.

 “To quote a favorite Dovahkiin, ‘Juszt szo’. Let’sz get the converszation going again!”

 And just like that, the conversation went on, and no one made mention of her song or her dance. There was just conversation and happy thoughts and a Dovahkiin in Loki’s lap.

 He really did not think much else because there was a Keshaara in his lap and she would, ever so often, wiggle to readjust herself and that was very nice. He was drawn into the conversation as well, offering a few observations and quips when needed. Keshaara and the others conversed at length, and it was...

  
_Pleasant._


	28. Naako

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

The hour was late when Keshaara excused herself from the party. Loki was only affected by the sudden lack of warmth in his lap, as engrossed in conversation with J’zargo as he was. Keshaara’s vacancy was soon filled by one of her friends, who sidled into his lap like she belonged there. He was not going to object, and slung an arm around the petite mer-girl’s waist. J’zargo did not stop conversing with him, happily continuing on in their discussion on magic.

 Loki could not think of a greater place to be – a pretty woman in his lap, and conversations that were genuine and forthcoming. Not a single person was lying, not a single person was showing revulsion at the mention of magic, and they were all clearly interested in him. He was, for the moment, the center of attention and all of it was good attention.

 Keshaara, for her part, returned to her room, pulling her clothing off and collapsing into bed. Two nights of parties had drained her significantly. She just wanted to sleep and recuperate. She was the sort who was social to a point, but after that she was just tired and needed time on her own. With family, it had always been different, but now that there was no family, she would get overwhelmed with being around so many people.

 She crawled under the covers of her bed, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to sleep.  

 The morning came when she awoke, and Loki was in bed next to her. He had apparently woken up before she had, as he was seated comfortably, propped up by one of the pillows, reading one of the books she had not packed in the bag. She recognized the cover, but did not talk to him about it. If he wanted to talk, he could start the conversation.

 Keshaara mumbled a “good morn” to Loki, before turning on her side away from him and curling back up underneath the blankets. The air in the room was only slightly chilled, but it was enough that she rather thought getting out of bed to fetch clothing was just something that was not going to happen. She did think it passing odd that her room was so cold when it was usually quite warm. A low complaining noise came out of her mouth, drawing a chuckle from her bedmate.

 He reached out to tousle her hair, and was rewarded with a grumpy mumble from Keshaara.

 “The feared Dragonborn, grumbling about a little cold? How trite.”

 Keshaara growled, and reached backwards to grab the blankets closer to the middle of the bed. With one great pull, she tore all the blankets from Loki’s side of the bed and piled them on top of her. She burrowed beneath the great pile of blankets and once more, for emphasis, _growled_.

 Loki chuckled and gently patted where he thought her shoulder was. There was a rumble of another half-attempted growl from beneath the blankets, and he couldn’t help but smile at her. He also couldn’t help letting his hand turn Jotun blue, worm under the covers and press onto the small of her back. The sudden blast of cold on her back got a nearly instantaneous reaction.

 Keshaara yelped, thrashed, and promptly fell off the bed in an undignified heap. He had all of a few seconds to laugh before Keshaara was on her feet, divested of the blankets and only in her sparse underclothing. Her hair was a skeever’s nest and her eyes were still bleary from sleep, but the look she directed at Loki was pure venom.

 She pounced on him, taking the book from his hands and throwing it over her shoulder. He made a slightly annoyed sound at her, and with a smile she nuzzled her cold nose into the crook of his neck. His lack of a reaction made her frown, so she remedied that by swiftly nipping at his neck. Her sharp teeth nearly broke the skin there, and she finally got a yelp out of him.

 His hands were already on her waist, and when she pulled away to look at him, his pupils were already wide with desire. Perhaps he thought they would be having some sexual moment or another. She leaned in, and Loki tilted his head up, his eyes half-closed, as if in expectation for a kiss. Keshaara tilted her head up at the last possible moment and licked the very tip of his nose.

 Loki flinched, and Keshaara dismounted him with a laugh. Ruefully, he rubbed his spit-slicked nose and glared at her.

 “We need to get going. We have dallied here long enough. I am sorry we cannot spend more time here, but you should be getting back home.”

 With her back to him as she stooped to pick up the book she had thrown, she could not see the sudden flicker of emotions on his face. She turned back just as Loki got out of bed, his face a mask. He reached for her, and misinterpreting his motion, she handed him the book. It had the familiar black cover with the imperial crest. She wished it had any cover other than what it did, but it was the Book of the Dragonborn, regaling any who read it with the stories of her predecessors and what it meant to be Dragonborn.

 He looked down to the book he now held, his mouth twisting in a semblance of a smile.

 “This book is talking of those like you, is it not?”

 Keshaara nodded, and went to fetch the pouch she had placed near her armor.

 “Astute of you. I bought that copy for you, along with all the books in here. I figure if I am taking you from Winterhold before your time here is done, I should at least give you the knowledge of the College. My old spellbooks and historybooks, and I bought a few others that only Urag had, so that you could, uhm…have something of Skyrim with you when you go home. It’s a small thing, but you have put up with a lot, and I thought books would be a better gift than a sword you’d never put to work.”

 Keshaara’s voice grew in speed, but decreased in volume as she spoke. She was incredibly uncomfortable all at once, because she realized that she was doing something odd and unexpected and she could _see_ Loki’s face falling.

 She was uncommonly nervous when she set the pouch down on the bed, her hands starting to tremble ever so slightly. She was so unused to this nervousness, and it made her wary. Loki had been affecting her how others rarely managed to, and she was willingly allowing him in closer than he allowed others. Why, she could not understand, but it was like he was crawling under her skin.

 Keshaara put her armor back on, and grabbed her new axe and set it to her waist, where it belonged. She would enchant it later. Right now, she needed to focus on getting to Jyggalag’s temple so she could get Loki home, like she promised, and then defeat Alduin, like she was destined to. With a shaky exhale, she shook her head and busied herself with preparing her own bags for the journey. This was to be her last…her last adventure. She did not need much. Not as much as she usually carried at least.

 When she was done, she turned to see Loki staring at her, wearing the armor she had made for him, and holding the pouch of books in his hands.

 “We should go.”

 He nodded, and said nothing.

 

* * *

 

They were on the road. Keshaara had insisted upon riding through the night again, despite the danger. Loki had quipped something about trying to be rid of him quickly, and Keshaara had not responded. All she could muster was a heartbreakingly morose look back to him, and nothing more. Loki had not said much since. There was something odd in the air between them, and Keshaara was not sure where it had come from.

Because she did not want for him to leave. Not yet, and perhaps not ever. He was fresh and new and wonderful and even if he was a prickly pear, she was rather fond of his presence nearby.

 So she allowed the silence to dominate as she thought of everything that still had to happen. Her thoughts consumed her, and she allowed herself to be swept away on their tide. Keshaara’s senses were still on high alert as she muddled through her thoughts, so she heard Loki reach for a book and begin reading, just as she felt the snowflakes falling on her face, and smelled the –

 Her reverie was halted abruptly. She reined Shadowmere in, and turned her head into the wind. She sniffed, and the inhaled deeply, trying to catch that nagging scent that had bothered her out of her thoughts. Loki came up next to her, watching her intently.

 Keshaara continued to breathe deeply, turning her head this way and that to seek out the smell.

 Loki said nothing, but grew increasingly concerned as Keshaara grew more and more agitated in the saddle. She dismounted, and turned her head into the wind, and then away from it, sweeping her head from side to side to see if she could really pinpoint where the smell was coming from.

 “Kesh, what is it?”

 “Aela. I can smell her, but she shouldn’t…be here. I smell Silver too.”

 “I’m sorry, what?”

 “Aela. My sister. I smell her, and the Silver Hand, which is not unusual, but I smell something else…something bad. We need to go find her.”  

 She mounted Shadowmere again, and turned into the forest. Loki followed behind her.

 “Did you not want to have me gone?”

 “No, I do not want you gone, but I will not have you present when it comes time for me to fight Alduin. Which must be soon. I need to ensure your safety. You should be far from here when that happens.”

 She rode further into the forest, altering her path only slightly as she continued. The forest grew thicker, and the smells grew stronger, letting her know she was on the right path, and more importantly, right to be worried. Everything smelled wrong, everything smelled like Aela, Silver Hand, and blood. Even as concerned as she was, Keshaara was careful to move as quietly as she could. She did not want to alert those who were hiding that she was nearby.

 Loki took the hint and was quiet as well.

 They came to a mouth of a cave, hidden by shrubbery and obscured by snow. Or at least, it would have been if there had not been bodies on pikes outside. Blood stained the snow crimson, and the smell of it was heavy in the air. Keshaara stepped up to the nearest body, swinging herself off of Shadowmere’s back and inspecting the body.

 “Something is wrong.”

 Loki’s lip curled.

 “I had _no idea_ , Kesh.”

 She smacked his arm.

 “This is normal for Silver Hand’s work, but the difference this time is that the man on the skewer is a member of the Hand, and not a werewolf.”

 Loki frowned at her.

 “Stay out here, I’ll go investigate inside. If it’s dangerous, I’ll let you know and we’ll ride off.”

 Keshaara edged towards the mouth of the cave, her bow flickering into existence on her back, along with a quiver of deadly-looking black arrows fletched with raven’s feathers. Loki followed behind her. She sent him a withering glare over her shoulder, but said nothing.

 She crouched and edged into the cave. Loki followed. Keshaara did not want to have him around, in case things went sideways, but there was no time to stop him. Aela’s smell was in the air, and she needed to make sure her sister was not injured. Her sister, her family from the Companions, her _sister_ was in trouble, and Keshaara was not going to allow her sibling to come to danger.

 Her footfalls were silent, and cloaked in darkness, Keshaara was invisible to all but the most astute of people. Her sneaking skill made her nigh invisible even without a spell. The cave dropped away suddenly, into a huge bowl-like depression in the earth. Cages lined one wall, and in one of them –

 “ _Aela_.”

 The Huntress was chained and bloodied. There was a gash that gouged a huge swathe out of her face, following the line of the paint she usually wore. Keshaara sucked on her teeth, and worried her lip between her teeth.

 She could not see any of the Silver Hand around, though their particular scent was heavy in the air. It seemed for now, the place was empty. Streaks of blood were smeared across the floor, as if what had been in the other cages had been dragged away. Slowly, she descended the ramp, her arrow still nocked and ready. Aela had not seen her, and as she swept her bow back and forth across the wide area, Keshaara remained on highest of alerts.

 Her sneaking skills were above and beyond what almost everyone could manage. Not a sound, not a sight not anything came from her. She was invisible, and readily deadly.

 She could not risk looking behind her, so she trusted Loki was staying close to her, and he was keeping his eyes open as well. There were pathways that lead off in all directions from the main hall they were in, and Keshaara was careful to check each of them for possible ambushes. None were readily apparent and Aela looked terrible. Her sister needed help.

 Keshaara, still crouched, rushed to the cage that held her sister. The poor woman was emaciated and bloodied, but could clearly smell something approaching her. She watched as Aela tensed, preparing for a fight, ready to fend off those who were attacking her, even to her last breath.

 “Aela, hush, I am here for you.”

 Keshaara stood tall for just a moment, and then crouched again, so that Aela could see her.

 Her sibling, to her shock, did not look happy to see her. Aela’s eyes were wide and panicky, even as Keshaara picked the lock on the cage and slid inside to pick the locks on the manacles that bound Aela to the ground.

 “Sister, you should not be here. It’s a trap.”

 “Of course it is. That’s why I’m here.”

 Aela chuckled, and Keshaara smiled at her. Loki had taken up a defensive position, standing in front of the cage, his hands up and ready to throw magic at anyone who came close. Keshaara smirked as Aela stood on shaking legs.

 “Would have thought you would be smarter than to be caught by the Hand, sis. Let’s get you outside and we’ll ride to Whiterun. The others can handle these assholes, and you can get yourself healed up.”

 Aela nodded, and Keshaara carefully helped her sister out of the cage. They were about halfway to the ramp back up and out of the cage, with Loki still careful to be on the lookout when Keshaara…noticed it.

 Aela had two puncture wounds just beneath her ear. Aela was also about two inches shorter than she should be. Her late-roused suspicions were confirmed when she heard Aela screaming from behind her. It was all the warning Keshaara needed. Her axe was in her hand and swinging before the not-Aela could react.

 Blood washed over her, courtesy of the vampire fledgling she mutilated. Loki jumped, but understood the trap to be what it was. His magic roared around him, and Keshaara was pleased to see a ward-spell materialize around them. His time at Winterhold had not been wasted.

 Aela, truly Aela ran from one of the paths beneath the ramp, still bloodied, but there were broken ropes hanging from her wrists. Her eyes were wild and wide, but there was nothing to indicate she had been bitten.

 “Aela, Shadowmere and Frost are outside! Take Lokil and ride to Whiterun. If I am not behind you in a day, rouse the Companions and ride back here!”

 The Huntress nodded, and rushed for the ramp. She grabbed Loki around his waist and hefted him up onto her shoulders. Keshaara’s own magic rushed to her fingers as vampires – newly turned Silver Hand members and older vampires ran from the deeper parts of the cave.

 Fire burst from her left hand as she wielded her axe in her right. She swept her left hand wide, cracking the closest vampire’s skull with her axe. Even a vampire horde could not frighten her. A bite here or there was nothing. She was Dovahkiin, she was Companion and she was not afraid of any of these vampires because none of them were –

 “Harkon.”

 She saw him, standing at the back of his horde as they battled. His presence made her blood freeze in her veins. The momentary lapse was enough. Her axe was torn from her hands and a bolt of lightning struck her square in the chest. There were so many vampires and only one of her, but she had to stand long enough for Loki and Aela to get space between them and here. She had to. Loki would be safe, and if she had selected her books right, he should be able to figure out where to go to get himself home. Harkon’s presence did not bode well for her, but that was not as important as securing the safety of others.

 A flash of green and gold obscured her vision as she struggled to rise back to her feet. Loki was screaming a challenge at the horde, and Keshaara looked up, to where he had come from, to see Aela setting fire to the ramp, and nodding a solemn goodbye to her. Keshaara returned the nod, knowing that her sister would not risk the ability to notify the Companions of what was happening on playing hero, like Loki insisted on doing.

 She stood, drawing a dagger from her bag, and pressing her back to Loki’s. Knives danced in the air around him, and his electric green magic crackled ominously around them both.

 But the numbers were too many, and they were not enough.

 Keshaara threw ward spells when needed, deflecting lightning around them both, but her magicka was draining and she could not account for Loki’s style of fighting. He wanted to move, he wanted to flit through the horde, but there was no option for that.

 An unfortunately poisoned knifetip snuck past her notice and just barely nicked her hand, slicing through the protection of the leather padding of her glove. Keshaara felt the burning ache spread all the way up her arm almost immediately and cried out. Loki turned to her, grabbing her by her untouched arm to hold her steady. His distraction allowed a vampire wielding a truly massive sword to rise up behind him.

 Keshaara pulled him down and away from the attacker, and threw her numbing arm up, to block the sword’s strike on her heavy armor. The force of the strike rattled her very bones, and she stumbled to her knees.

 Loki was torn away from her grasp, into the horde of vampires. The first to bite him was the first to learn the folly of his blood, and the unfortunate died gagging, frostbite seeping outward from his throat, all across his skin. The spread of a deep, Jotun blue was unnoticed, as it was covered quickly by frost. No one else bit him, which was a small victory.

He was held steady, bound and stripped of arms and armor and anything else they thought could be pertinent.

Harkon finally advanced on her, smiling broadly.

She could not rise, so she rested on a single knee, not willing to kneel fully before the Master Vampire before her.

 “You keep poisoned fellows, Keshaara,” he said, looking to the fallen vampire who had been the first and only to taste Loki’s blood.

 Keshaara could not respond. The poison was making the entire world swim in her vision, but she had to make sure Loki remained safe.

 “He is a much-cared-for companion. His loss would wound me. Release him and I will gladly… _serve_.”

 She bit out the word with as much venom as she could manage, hoping that she knew enough of Harkon to know how he would react to her ‘beloved’ companion.

 “My dear, you will be serving, regardless.”

 He lifted her by the collar of her armor with more fluid ease than Loki had back in Nchuand-Zel. One of his hands caressed the side of her neck, brushing her matted hair from her neck and smiling. The poison in her body made the movements nauseating, but there was nothing she could do.

 Her last vision was that of Harkon’s teeth drawing ever closer to her neck. Her vision went black and her world was focalized into _pain_.


	29. Zofaas

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

Keshaara woke up slowly. Her arms burned, and she tasted dirt. She tried to move, to pull her arms free from behind her back and push herself to her feet. Her mind was slow to process what was going on around her, but her movements had been noticed.

Someone grabbed her by her elbow and pulled her too her feet. All at once she realized that her wrists were bound to her elbows because that yank sent unimaginable pain through her. She struggled to get her feet underneath her so that the pain would stop. But no, the person kept her arm cranked high, even when she was standing, so she was forced into some sort of half-stooped bow to make sure that her arm was not separated from her shoulder.

 She noted, dully, that her armor was gone, and she was garbed in simple, roughspun clothing. Looking around, she saw Loki kneeling off to the side, his lip seeping blood, and bruises purpling his skin, but there were no huge gashes or serious wounds that she could see. They were not in the same open cave they had been taken in, but there were still vampires everywhere. It appeared that she was up on a slightly raised dais, and she felt like she knew what was coming next.

 Harkon advanced on the dais, garbed in the same gaudy finery he preferred as Master of Vampires. Keshaara shot him her best dirty look, but he only smiled at her. He made a gesture, and Loki was pulled to his feet. Loki kicked his captor’s leg out, and struggled to get free, calling out to Keshaara, vainly trying to get to her, to stop whatever was happening.

Harkon stopped, and turned to Loki, smiling so that all of his fangs were on display.

"You know, Keshaara, this one was astoundingly glib when he was arguing for your release. He spun a great many stories, about him as a god, about the power and might that we could gain if we kept him and released you. If he were anything close to a skilled liar, we may have believed him. But the truth of it is so much simpler, isn’t it?”

Keshaara looked to Loki, her eyes wide with fright. How long had she been out for her to miss such things? How much had he said? Harkon did not believe it, whatever had been said, but that meant nothing if she did not know what had been said. She struggled, trying to get Harkon to focus on her and not think about Loki, not to acknowledge Loki, to do anything that would convince him that Loki was nothing, and should be released.

 “You have a bound Daedra, in a pleasurable form. You _wicked_ harlot. His blood is venom to any but those who summoned him, and I see nothing more fitting than this.”

 Harkon made another gesture, and Loki was dragged away. Keshaara screamed, struggling against the person who held her, despite the pain it caused. Loki was thrown into a stone-hewn cell and shackled to the wall, his arms held high above his head. He kicked and struggled in vain, calling out to Keshaara. She had to stay quiet, she could not let them think that they had anything but the truth in their minds.

 Still, worry was written on her face, and she hoped Harkon would continue misinterpreting everything. He had not yet turned her, and she was hoping that he would try and do something other than turn her.

 “You and he, trapped together until you succumb to his blood and drink it – becoming whatever it is his blood would turn you into, and then succumbing again, to me.”

 Harkon ran his fingers down the side of her face.

 “You would make a marvelous wife. We would have brought about eternal night and ruled over all of Skyrim for eternity.”

 He was not talking to her, she knew. Harkon talked to the idea he had of her. She was not anything to him, just an idea in his head that would be made reality, if he was given his way. She expected the bite, as she had expected it before, and when it came, that pain became all she felt.

 Her blood burned in her veins.

 Darkness consumed her.

 Keshaara was only vaguely aware of her surroundings for a long while. She could not manage to make her world focus, she could not feel anything other than an ache in her teeth and a deep hunger in her belly, but she knew, she _knew_ that she needed to rouse herself. Loki could be in trouble. Loki could be… _Loki_ –

 She sat up, eyes wide and searching. Had she been separated from him? Harkon had said that he wanted them together, but he was a wily man and was known to lie to her.

 “You are awake, Keshaara,” Loki drawled from the wall, where he was hanging from a pair of too-short shackles.

 He offered her a wan smile, which she returned. Her lips were pulled tight across fangs that had burst from her gums in the hours she had slept. She knew, as intrinsically as anyone could, that her werewolf blood had been burned from her and replaced with the infection of a vampire. She reached up to prod at the sharpened teeth that dominated her mouth, feeling them out before talking.

 “Yesth.”

 He snorted at her half-lisp. Keshaara glared, but agreed that it sounded silly to be lisping over her fangs. Like she had not had them before.

 “Sthorry, Loki. I had hoped thisth would not have come to pass. Aela…if she got away, it will be six daysth before she and the others can return. I hold no reservations that Harkon do whatever he can in his power to force my…fangsth.”

 Her lisp came and went as she talked. She did, in fact, remember how to speak around the elongated teeth, but it was hard. Harder when her awakening senses could smell the blood leaking from Loki’s lip.

 Divines did he look good bleeding and bruised. His hair was in a tangled mess around his head, hanging limply in his eyes, despite his best efforts to shake the errant strands out of the way. He had been stripped of his shirt, which allowed her some particularly lovely views of his muscles and the way his pulse rumbled through his body. It was all entirely by design.

 Harkon thought his blood was poison, and wanted her to gorge herself on it. Such was the way things were.

 “Six days? That is a long while to wait. Can you not get us out of here? Pick the locks and make a rush for it?”

 Keshaara shook her head.

 “They took all of my belongingsth and redressed me. I have no picks, and even if I did, Harkon is…my sire, as of now. He commandsth me. I am too weak to resist him like this. I would need to drink, and drink deeply to throw his control of me off. Not enough blood in you for that, and I am sure that I will not be fed by any other meansth.”

 Loki paled.

 “Keshaara…how often do vampires feed?”

 She offered him a toothy smile, but the brightness of the smile did not reach her reddening eyes.

 “Every day. Going four days without feeding usually sends them…usth, I guess, into bloodrage. We’ll eat anything, everything that crosses our paths at that point. There is only so much time even the strongest vampires can go without blood before they weaken to the point of madness.”

 He hissed, and shifted as best he could in the chains.

 “So we must wait.”

 “Yes,” Keshaara said, rising out of the bed she was lying in. The cell they were in was small and carved out of the earth of the cave. Loki’s shackles were bolted into the stone, and just high enough that he had to balance on his toes to give his shoulders some relief from the pull.

 Loki swallowed heavily as she crossed the small gap between the rough bed she had been tossed onto and his position on the wall. She lifted a hand, and soft golden light flickered at her fingers. Gently, she ran her hand over his face and down his body, healing all of the bruises and broken skin that was there. She turned her head, searching the small cell for something she could use. There was a bucket of clean water and a rag behind her bed, far from the door. She dipped the rag in the water, and went to cleaning the blood from his skin, careful not to get too close to him or the rag, in case her growing hunger got the best of her.

 She threw the rag in the bucket, letting the water dilute the blood into nothingness, but the scent still hovered in the air.

 Keshaara sat on the edge of the bed, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

 “I will not hurt you, Loki. I will not.”

 She bowed her head, and went away inside herself. If she meditated and thought, and introspect deep inside of her, she could both pass time and ignore the rising hunger. It could have been hours later when she heard Loki insistently chanting “Kesh, Kesh, Keshaara, _Kesh_.”

 Blinking her eyes open, Keshaara looked to the panicked man, and was surprised to see another vampire in the cell with them. There was a knife in her hand, and a wicked gleam in her eye. Keshaara was not a slow woman, even on her worst days, and she was on her feet, reaching for the naked knife with her unprotected hand.

 “Stop.”

 Her muscles seized mid-motion and Keshaara did as she had been commanded to do. This was a pure vampire then. One of Harkon’s lieutenants or something. A vampire that outranked her and had clearly been given permission to abuse that position.

 “Kneel.”

 Her knees went out from underneath her.

 Keshaara opened her mouth to object, to try and fight back but –

 “Be silent.”

 Her vocal chords left her. She could not speak, not even to make the slightest of sounds.

 The knife was still in the vampire’s hand, and it glittered in the low light of the cell. Keshaara kept her eyes on that knife, ignoring Loki for now. The knife was where her focus needed to be. If she did not pay attention to the knife, something bad could happen. Something really bad could happen.

 “Stay. Still.”

 The vampire brought the knife to Keshaara’s face, pressing the very tip of it into the flesh of her cheek until it dug into her bone. Keshaara did not flinch. She could not. The knife twisted, carving out a perfect circle of flesh. Blood poured from the wound, sliding down her face, dripping from her chin. The vampire smiled, pulled the knife from Keshaara’s face, and then repeated the macabre process, dotting her face with the same style of cut, following the curve of her cheek.

 Blood drenched the side of her face, but still, she did not move.

 “Such a good _girl_ , Keshaara. You will not heal the wounds I gave you. Let them scar.”

 Keshaara’s lip curled.

 “Oh, none of that, dove. You’ll be with us for a while, and Harkon says that anyone can come play with you. There are so many others who cannot wait to have some fun with you, so if you are so eager to allow all of them in, I can have them all come for you.”

 The glare the Dragonborn gave the vampire should have set the blasted creature on fire, but nothing happened. She said nothing, and Loki could only look on.

 “Tilt your head back.”

 Keshaara did so, and she felt the knife’s blade dance across her neck, not deep enough to cut, but just enough to make her feel acutely aware of the blade.

 “I’m going to tell you exactly what to do, and you’re going to do it, _Dovahkiin_.”

 The vampire was drunk on power, and Keshaara rather thought that there was a chance she had done something to this vampire in the past, which would explain the veracity in which the vampire insisted on.

 “Your daedra pet is wonderful. Had I trusted you with the dark magics, I would make you summon me one as well. I would take this one from you if I could, but I think it is better for the master to serve the summoned slave.”

 Keshaara felt the compulsion rising in her gut. She wanted blood, she was hungry, her mouth ached to be filled, and she could smell her own blood heavy in the air. She wanted to serve him, from her knees. That was what she was good for. Loki was still, hanging from his bindings, watching her carefully. His green eyes were dark, and he was nearly squirming. When Keshaara turned to him, her eyes red and her body slick with blood, he had to bite back a groan. The situation was terrible, everything about what was going on was horrifying but to see her like that was arousing. Why it was, he could not say, because he did not like that this was happening to her – to them, but it was. Her eyes met his, and in a shocking moment, she was granted clarity.

 “Let his mind be. If you are here to torture me, do just that. His mind is _mine_. His body is _mine_ and his blood is **mine**.”

 There was a dangerous undercurrent to what Keshaara said, a deeply resonant power that hid in her words. All at once, the uncomfortable sensation of unwanted arousal left Loki. The vampire had ceased the connection as soon as Keshaara had spoken, too stunned that she had managed to do that to react otherwise. 

 It took the vampire woman aback for a moment, and fear was in the other’s red eyes. Keshaara had clearly drawn a line – no one was to use Loki. Keshaara owned him. Keshaara would be the only one who would touch him or use him. It was up to the vampires to decide if they wanted to listen to her. This one swallowed her fear and lashed out with her knife, catching Keshaara across her face, and then turning the knife on Loki, and carving a long line up his chest.

 Keshaara _screamed_ in tandem with Loki, and with stunning speed, Keshaara shook off the commanding of the other vampire and rose. She caught the knife in the meat of her right hand, and twisted it out of the vampire’s grip. Her instinct was to bite and _feed_ and that was just what she did. Her teeth sank into the tender flesh of the vampire’s neck and she drank deeply.

 White-hot pleasure shot through her. Her body, her mind, all of her rejoiced at the sensation of feeding. Blood was in the air and it was in her mouth and all things were wonderful with the world. She clutched the older vampire to her, crushing her in an embrace entirely too tight and drained her of all blood.

 The husk fell away from her, and Keshaara kicked the body from her. The blood was not enough. She was still hungry. She was _hungry_. Loki watched as she turned towards him, her red eyes turning to wide, black, holes. Blood dripped from her mouth, her face, and from the long laceration up his torso. This time, he could feel it when Keshaara’s mind reached for his. Try as he might, he could not resist her mental power.

 She stood tall and looked at him. Her mouth was hanging open, and blood coated her fangs. Loki was fascinated, fixated on her. She was beautiful, she was deadly, she was mistress, she was everything, she was who he existed to serve, to bleed for, his blood was hers, he submitted it to her, she was all he wanted to serve and be with and that was all he existed to do.

 Keshaara came closer and the compulsions to _please_ her only grew. His thoughts were jumbled, stumbling and repetitive. He knew they were wrong. They were fuzzy and unclear to him, they were not his own thoughts but they were driving him to ache for her. To feel her teeth in his neck as she rode him like she had back in Winterhold. He wanted to serve her. He wanted to serve her he wanted to serve her he wanted to serve her he wanted to s e r v e h e r.

 She leaned in, her mouth moving instinctively to his neck. Her lips were pulled back and her teeth were exposed and Loki tilted his head to the side, allowing her access because he wanted to serve her. He felt the pinpricks of her fangs touch into his flesh…and then nothing.

 The thoughts fade, and for the second time, Loki comes back to himself, truly. Keshaara’s forehead is pressed into the crook of his neck and her skin feels colder than his own. For a long while, she just stands there, not willing to move away, but knowing she needed to.

 “Apologies,” she mumbled after a while, pressing her hand to his chest. Golden light and the familiar feeling of being healed by her flushed through him and Loki sighed. The dull ache of the wounds faded, and Loki was left, whole and hale, once again. Keshaara stepped away from him shakily.

 Her pupils were still blown wide and it did not take a master of body language to read the absolute desperation in her body.

 “Kesh?”

 “S-sorry, Loki. I’m not going to hurt you. I am _not_.”

 Again, she fetched the rag and water, and cleaned the blood from Loki’s body. Her own wounds still seeped blood, but she could not muster enough energy to heal them. She collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to do anything with the body. There would be punishment for what she had done, she was sure. But she had to do it. She had to.

 “Five days.”

 Loki, shackled to a wall and waiting for whatever would happen to happen, thought that five days sounded like far too much for her to handle. He could do nothing, though. Not yet, at least.

  


	30. Folook

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

The second day passed uneventfully. No one came to harass them. In fact, the only person they saw was a vampire fledgling that came to drag the dead body away. They were left alone. The morning of the third day was the next time someone dared enter the cell.

 Keshaara dabbed at her facial wounds with the blood-stained rag, hissing when she felt the scabs from the deep puncture wounds peel ever so slightly from her skin. She was hungry, but that was not unusual. Loki had complained of hunger once, but there was nothing she could do about that. If they did not bring him food, she could not see that he had any of it. She did, however, try for the next best thing, to get the attention of others so that she could yell at them for not tending to her daedra as needed.

 An hour or so later, a fledgling approached the cell, holding two bowls. Keshaara could smell that one of them contained blood, and did her best to not look too eager. But she was hungry. She was so hungry. She wanted blood, she wanted that blood. Her mouth watered and she focused, perhaps a bit too intensely on the blood.

 The fledgling entered the cell, and handed her the bowl of…food. Not the blood. The fledgling held the blood in one hand. Without looking at the bowl she now held, Keshaara watched the fledgling carefully. The fledgling vampire looked at her, grinned, and then threw the blood at Loki, drenching him completely in the viscous ichor.

 Keshaara cried out at the waste, and the vampire laughed and left the cell, the heavy door shutting behind them. Keshaara put the bowl down on the bed and before she could contemplate what she was doing, she was pressed up against Loki, her tongue flattened against his skin and licking desperately. The blood was thin, old, and hardly appealing, but in her state, she wanted it anyway.

 Loki tensed under her sudden ministration, certainly not happy about the blood in his hair and dripping down his face. Keshaara’s tongue was rather quickly transforming that irritation into something decidedly more sensual.

 She laved at the skin of his neck, unable to help the pleasured sounds that came from her mouth. It was blood and it was what she needed. She licked behind his ear to seek out a few fleck of blood and Loki exhaled heavily. His pulse raced and the blood beneath his skin sang to her. Fresh blood, living blood, _Loki’s_ blood just beneath his skin. Gently, she rasped her fangs across the skin just beneath his ear and Loki groaned.

 Keshaara shuddered and licked his skin again. She licked down his throat, pressing her tongue into the dip in between his collarbones. She could nearly taste his voice as he moaned again. Her voice rose in tandem with his. Loki nearly writhed under her as she nipped – gently, so gently on the column of his throat, just putting enough pressure down so that she could feel his pulse rush against her teeth. She licked a wet stripe up his throat, over his chin.

 Her hands were on his waist, holding him steady. She could feel his erection pressing into her stomach, and it only made the hunger in her grow all the more wild. Keshaara ran her tongue across his devilishly defined jawbone, moaning aloud at how it felt. She had not spoken falsely when she regaled him with how unfairly perfect his bone structure was. She licked the blood from his face, and in her haste, she licked across his lips.

 The blood there, just beneath the rosy skin, called for further attention. Keshaara licked the corner of his mouth again, and mid-lick, she pressed her mouth against his in a brutal kiss. She ravaged his mouth with her tongue, not minding her fangs or his confused whimper when her teeth caught his lower lip with slightly too much force. The cut was small, but his blood filled both of their mouths, and it was Keshaara who moaned this time. She kissed him harder, one hand coming up to cradle his head as the other worked down his threadbare pants to grasp his cock.

 He gasped, and Keshaara kissed him with more fervor. She wanted him. She wanted his blood and the more she worked him up the more his blood moved and the more his blood tasted like opium and ale and smoke and fire and _Divines_ did she want him.

 “Kesh!”

 His voice broke her trance and she came back to herself. Her teeth were in his neck, mere centimeters from breaking through to the blood she craved so desperately. Keshaara froze and withdrew from him, trembling.

 “Loki…oh…oh…”

 She backed away until she was sitting on the bed. Her eyes were wide and panicky, and she could not bring herself to look at him. Loki was bound and squirming, not that he would admit to the squirming. But he was aching and hard and he _wanted_ Keshaara. He wanted her and now he missed her pressed close to him.

 Keshaara shook her head and tried to ignore her bloodlust. Tried and failed, but tried again anyway. She was not going to hurt him. She grabbed the bucket of water, dipped the rag into it and then threw all of the water over Loki, washing the still-slick blood from him in one fell sweep.

 He spluttered, indignant with her actions, and decidedly less aroused.

 “I can’t think when you’re covered in blood. Too hungry for that. Let me feed you, as I am certain you are hungry, and then I will try and sleep through the rest of the day. Sleep and forget, and wake up hungry.”

 He huffed, his blood cooling down and his arousal waning. Keshaara grabbed the bowl of food from the bed and with shaking hands, she lifted food to his mouth. He ate slowly, grimacing at the rather poor taste. Keshaara apologized beneath her breath nigh constantly, trying to keep her mind off of him. Because she craved him. She craved him and she wanted him and all she wanted to do was drink him down and fuck him boneless. Her breaths came in labored pants, and Loki looked at her piteously as she carried on.

 When the food was gone, she put the bowl down on the ground and retreated to the bed. She crawled as far away from Loki as she could manage, and wrapped herself in the thin blanket that she had been given. She burrowed herself down in a small ball and stared blankly at the wall.

 There was silence for a long while. Loki hung limply from his chains. Arousal still burned in his veins, but it was tempered with the knowledge that as much as he wanted her, she could not allow herself to enjoy him. He did, though, crave her. She dropped her head down to rest her forehead on her knees. She did not look well.

 “Keshaara…do you want to play the game of questions?”

 She laughed into her legs, but he could see the nodding movement she made.

 “Sure. Are you upset with me for getting us into this mess?”

 “No. I have been upset with people for far less than this, but I do not find myself being upset with you now. Are you hungry?”

 “ _Yes_ ,” she bit out desperately. “Yes I am _so_ hungry, Loki. You smell so good and you feel wonderful and I am so, so, so _hungry_ right now.”

 Loki winced. Keshaara did not say much for a while, holding her knees to her as some sort of comfort.

 “Have you ever been imprisoned before?”

 “Back home, I still am, or should be. Have you?”

 “Yeah, it is rather par for the course for my life. Here, Cidhna mine, a few other places. Harkon is by far the cruelest. Cidhna just tried to work you to death and everyone was too exhausted to attempt rape. Do you still want to go home, even to be in prison?”

 Loki took a while to answer, mulling over the extra information she had given him before responding.

 “Comparatively, prison there is much nicer. And it is, after everything else, where I must be.”

 Keshaara mumbled an agreement into the space in between her legs.

 “Would you stay here, given the chance to leave?”

 “I don’t know. I have a husband and a destiny here. But I am trapped here. I cannot leave, as much as I would like to. All I can do is fulfill my destiny and hope that the rest of my years are pleasant, and hope again that my years after death are kind. There is not much for me to look forward to. But I can make the world here better. That can be enough. I can make things better.”

 She propped her head up on her knees, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

 “Why were you imprisoned?”

 Her eyes studied him carefully. There was no way for him to look away, or avoid her gaze, bound as he was. He tried to shift himself so that she was not looking directly at him, but there was no escaping her.

 “I usurped the throne, fell into the abyss, and attempted to conquer another realm.”

 “Huh.”

 “Do you doubt my story?”

 “No, you have no reason to lie about that, and you still have yet to master the way to lie in my tongue,” Keshaara said with a small smile. “I do question the intelligence of your actions, however. Why would you usurp what was not meant to be yours?”

 “Because it _should_ be mine. My brother is unfit, and my father is a poor king, and a liar. I am the better ruler. I will be the better ruler. I should be given the chance. I should. I deserve it. Would I not be a great King?”

 Loki’s words had the bitter bite of one who has been wounded deeply. Hunger forgotten for the moment, Keshaara looked at the man. He carried himself as a king would, proud and regal, even if both were diminished by being chained, shirtless, and bloodied. He would be an imposing king, stunningly beautiful and sharp. Perhaps he would be fair, perhaps he would not be fair. That was unsure to her. She could see now, though, his name, written into his flesh as easily as hers was written into her own.

 “It is in your name to be a King, Loki. But perhaps you are not meant to wear the crown you have chosen for yourself. Your Kingship does not need to be a throne of gold and supplicants. Would that please you? Truly, would it make you happy to lord over all those people you grew up with, from a throne that is not yours to sit in, and let the throne you should be in languish in your absence? I wonder.”

 “That is two questions, Keshaara,” Loki snapped at her.

 “Yes, and there is nothing you can ask of me as punishment, so I would rather like to hear your answers,” she said stiffly.

 Her short answer caught him off guard and he stumped over his words for a moment.

 “I…I don’t…What else is there for me to rule over? If not Asgard, my rightful throne, where else? Midgard was harder than I imagined to conquer, and the battle there taxed me greatly. I only want to fulfill my rightful destiny. The destiny that is _mine_. My throne, my kingdom, all that has been taken from me, I deserve that which has been taken from me. Where is the throne, then, that I so deserve?”

 “ _Krojunsekrah_. Where you want, sorcerer-king.”

 The words tumbled from her lips, unbidden, but needed. She watched him react to the name, pulling his arms tight and shifting as best he could when he was still bound. His pupils alternated between dilated and constricted rapidly, and briefly, a crackle of green magic rushed through the area.

 “Wha-”

 “Dragon name. Figure if I kick the bucket, that should give you enough leverage. If things do go sideways, go to the Throat of the World and invoke Paarthunax. He should be able to help you treat with Jyggalag, should he know that you have been given that much.”

 Keshaara spoke quickly, feeling a pricking at the back of her neck. Danger was coming.

 “Keshaara…why? What does it mean?”

 “Because it is important for you to know. Your name is exactly what you are. The Sorcerer-King from the Cold. It is who you are. What you are. There is nothing else to you but that, at your very core, is there?”

 Loki frowned at her, and mulled over her words with a dark look in his eyes. He did not seem comforted by his title, nor by what Keshaara was saying.

 “How is it… _why_ is it that?”

 She shrugged.

 “No one knows why the names are what they are. But that is what it is. My name, my title, are all things that are inescapable aspects of this fleshy body. Just as yours are. Even if you never sit a throne, your name has always been King. You have always been a King, you just never manage to sit the proper throne. Your name should tell you where you should be, and what your life will be. These are things that are true for us.”

 Loki snarled, and banged the cuffs on his wrists on the stone above his head.

 “Then why am I chained here, Keshaara? Why can I not be King of Asgard _now,_ King of Midgard, King of all Nine Realms? Why am I trapped in this cell, considered your thrall and far from home? _Why?!_ ”

 It seemed the talk of Kings annoyed him. His vociferous denials only piqued her interest all the more, and she could barely feel the hunger that gnawed at her bones.

 “Because it is necessary. Because your path always included this stop, this moment, this conversation. Because your name is writ in the books of Oblivion, same as mine, and if you want to bitch that your path is so much harder to walk, I should remind you that you still have home, you still will be there, and your path ends in glory, and mine does not. I should remind you that you are chained, and I am chained, and that we are all chained to a path we did not like. I should remind you that I give glory to the Lover, not because I hold any ideals that I will find the Alunsegein my heart desires, but because she is the only one who loves those who surrender themselves to their fate, regardless. I should remind you that my family was killed before me, and I was dragged into a land I had never been, attacked and branded as a hero, bound to the earth beneath my feet and barred from ever seeing their graves, barred from mourning them, barred from much and more and everything I had hoped for to save a land that never will respect what I gave up. Your name gives you glory, and mine, only ever sorrow.”

 She met his gaze and held it, her reddened eyes meeting his green ones without a single flinch. She held and held and held his stare, not caring that he was nearly apoplectic with fury, not caring that she still was in a position of power over him, as she could move freely. She did not care because Loki needed to hear what she said. He needed to hear it because he was too consumed with everything in his head. He needed to hear it because Keshaara was starting to be concerned that she was not going to make it.

 She could not manage this. Not with the impending sense of doom that suddenly hung over her.

 They stared at each other, each challenging the other to back down, to blink first and admit the other was right. Neither did.

 Their reverie was only interrupted when the door to the cell was thrown open. Keshaara bolted to her feet, tearing her eyes away from Loki to face whoever was coming in. Three vampires burst in this time, one holding a wickedly curved dagger to Loki’s throat. Keshaara froze, her eyes darting between the vampires and the blade at Loki’s neck. There was no blood, just yet, but the threat was clear.

 “Harkon says we get to have you first.”

 Keshaara paled beneath the grime on her skin, but did not give any other outward sign of distress. One of the vampires grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her forward, into his grasp. He reached up to the collar of her roughspun clothing and ripped it open, exposing the entirety of her chest. Loki hissed, and Keshaara jerked her head away from the vampire when he moved to kiss her. His arms wrapped around her waist, his hands dipped to grab her ass, and when Keshaara stood stiffly and reacted with a blank stare, the trio laughed.

 “Like last time, this silence will be broken soon enough. And maybe that pretty nose of yours, again.”

 The Dragonborn was hefted, without much effort, and tossed over one of their shoulders. She kept her eyes on Loki as they paraded her out of the cell. Only when the cell door was slammed shut and their boisterous laughter fading, did he think to use his voice. He screamed, beating his chained fists on the wall, cursing with every intention of finding the words needed to destroy those who dared to take Keshaara from him.

 No one came to investigate his noises though, and the caves they had taken Keshaara into echoed with silence.


	31. Boziik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are somewhat graphic descriptions of rape and torture in this chapter. If you do not want to read it, scroll down to the linebreak mid-chapter. After that point, there is nothing else graphically depicted, though it is discussed. I do not want anyone to read this and be uncomfortable, so please, if this is not something you want to read, scroll away!  
> -Darkarashi

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

Loki was left in silence. For hours, all he could hear was laughter and the sick sound of flesh impacting flesh. He did not know if she was being beaten, or worse. There was no screams though. Only the laughter of men, and the vicious tittering of women. He wanted to shut the sounds out. He did not want to hear the laughter, nor the nauseating sounds of beating. He did not want to be here and forced to envision what could be happening to her.

 His stomach churned, and he tried to keep his meager meal down. Hours passed like this, more than he could bear, and still they stretched on. No one came for him, no one acknowledged him, hanging in his cell. His arms burned, and the pain intensified his feelings. A cold sweat broke out across the back of his neck. He felt ill, he felt awful, he felt dizzy and off balance. The sounds only grew in intensity, echoing through the caves.

  _Thump thump thump whump smack whump whump thump._

 He winced as it continued. It had a broken rhythm, and only contributed to the sickening concerto. There did not seem to be any end to the sounds, or what was being done to Keshaara. When he finally heard the screaming start, he thought it would be over. They got what they wanted. She was screaming. She was screaming bloody, anguished murder, but that was what they wanted.

 There was laughter, and Keshaara screamed again, somehow managing to scream louder and louder after every bout of laughter from her tormentors. He thought her throat would give out before it got to that volume, but she only screamed the louder. Her voice echoed through the chambers, reverberating in his skull. He never wanted to hear her scream again. The sounds would not leave him be, there was no escaping her voice. He wanted to find the screams sweet, he wanted to revel in the subjugation, he wanted to find the solace in other’s pain that he once found, once rejoiced in, but it was worthless.

 He could not bring himself to find anything pleasurable in this. Keshaara’s screams made him sick. She could not even manage proper words – she only screamed, her voice cracking when she ran out of breath.

 On Midgard, the screams had been soul-blisteringly wonderful to hear. Here, her screams – _her_ screams made him anxious. He wanted to help and was bound in such a way that he could not. He wanted to make it stop, above all else. He wanted to make the screaming stop because it was driving him mad. Truly mad. He squeezed his shoulders into his ears to try and block it out.

 When her screams turned into his name, and cries for help and “Divines to make it _stop_ ”, he felt something inside him break. Keshaara’s voice was broken and small, no matter how loud it was. Only laughter followed her words, and Loki found himself screaming back, trying anything in his power to drown her voice out. He could not bear to hear it anymore, could not bear to hear her screaming, her pleading, her begging for release because it was too much.

 It seemed as if it were hours before Keshaara’s screams stopped. Loki’s throat burned and felt raw, but as soon as he felt that he was not competing with her to drown the other out, he stopped as well. The sudden silence was a welcome relief, but he could not relax until he knew that Keshaara was safe and back in the cell with him. It was the fourth, nearly fifth day. Her friends should be coming back for her soon. Then it would be better, and she would not have to scream any more.

 He heard the sounds of someone being dragged, and turned his head, looking as best he could out of the cell to see what was coming.

 One of the vampires had a naked woman by her hair, and was dragging her back towards the cell. His heart sank in his chest when he realized the woman was Keshaara. She looked so small without her armor, without her clothing, and her body had clearly been brutalized. The cell door was opened, and with a vicious throw, the man tossed Keshaara back in.

 She had been ritually cut, fresh wounds now covered in dirt and semen and who knew what else had been carved deep into her flesh. What looked like salt had been packed into some of the deepest wounds and sinew had been stitched over it, locking the salt in the forming scar. There were serious burns on the underside of her breasts, and her skin was a litany of deep bite wounds. Her breasts had been savaged by multiple men, it looked like, and her wrists and neck bore the same marks. Her lips were split on the left side of her face, from her nose all the way down to her chin. One of her eyes was blackened and as she struggled to get herself up, Loki could see where they had carved a chunk of flesh from her right ear. One of her fingers was short a joint, and he could see the tell-tale signs of broken bones beneath the skin of her shoulder.

 The vampire pulled her to her feet by grabbing the broken shoulder joint, ignoring her cry of pain. He shoved her into Loki and she grabbed for his shoulders, ignoring his own cry of pain as she tried to keep herself on her feet. Grinning at him as he undid his trousers, the vampire pulled Keshaara’s hips high.

 Loki’s green eyes burned with fury as the man raped Keshaara up against him. Every thrust had Keshaara’s head jutting up into his chin, rocking them both in some sick mockery of sex. The man was not gentle – Loki only watched in horror as the other man dug his fingers into the gashes in Keshaara’s flesh. The vampire worked his fingers deep into the wounds on her thighs, grabbing her by the meat of her legs. His hands were halfway into the wounds, and Keshaara only whimpered in objection.

 “M’sorry Loki, but I…I _need_ …”

 Her voice was soft and desperate in his ear, and before Loki could react, he felt her mind reach for his again. This time it was not her attempting to manipulate his mind, or cause him to sleep. No, he felt her almost as if she were within his skin, using him as an escape from the pain she undoubtedly felt. He did not like her in his mind, but he could not find it within himself to object.

 If he focused on her, and she focused on him, they could both ignore what was actually happening. She felt like the down of a fledgling’s feathers in his flesh, and he found strange comfort in her presence. Her body relaxed into him, despite the ongoing violation of her body, and it did not take long for the rapist to notice.

 With a snarl, the man tore her away from Loki, turning to throw her onto the bed. His hands were slick with her blood, and it did not seem as if he truly cared about that. Keshaara cried out when her back hit the blankets. When she was forcibly moved away from her initial position, dragged so her hips were barely at the edge of the bed, Loki saw blood. There was no part of her that was not hurt in some egregious manner.

 The man thrust back into her, hooking one of her feet up over his shoulder to increase his own pleasure. Loki’s stomach churned when he saw her foot. A knife had been taken to her sole – there was a deep gash down the length of her foot, from the pad of her foot to the heel. Each toe had received the same treatment, and presumably so had the other foot.

 Keshaara’s presence faded from him, and she started whimpering again, forced back into herself. Loki could not see what was happening any more, could not see what was going on, or where the brute of a man was jabbing his fingers, but could only assume that it was back into any one of the many wounds on her body.

 When he punched Keshaara for the first time, Loki was shocked. The second time, Loki was angry, and when each subsequent blow fell, timed with his abhorrent thrusts into his unwilling, abused partner, Loki felt his rage building inside of him. There was nothing he could do and that fact made him more angry than he could ever remember being.

 The vampire grunted, finally finished. He leaned in to her, folding her leg uncomfortably close to her chest and bit her neck. Keshaara whined, pushing weakly on the man’s shoulder as he drank her blood down. Loki could only watch as her skin paled even further, and her hand went limp, falling to bed beside her. She did not even twitch when the man finally pulled his fangs from her neck and punch her square in the face, just once again, for good measure.

 He pulled his pants up, refastening them, and still grinning at the brutalized Keshaara.

 

* * *

 

It was a long time before she moved. Blood seeped from the multitude of cuts, and Loki had the horrible honor of watching bruises rise on her skin. Her breaths were shallow and slow. He could hear a whistling on each exhale, and knew that she had more than likely received some manner of internal trauma as well.

Not that that was hard to believe – he had, after all, watched a man push his grimy hands halfway into her legs just to hear her cry out. Other wounds on her arms and on her stomach showed signs of receiving the same treatments from others. He did not want to even think about the rape. Keshaara had been absolutely abused within an inch of her life, and she was not moving.

 “Kesh…Kesh please move for me,” he asked softly, trying to mentally deny the way his voice cracked.

 Her thigh jumped, and her right leg managed a half-hearted movement to close her legs. Loki did not want to have to look at her anymore. Not like that. Keshaara had always been resilient, fighting through every last thing that had faced them with an indominatable spirit. But now she could barely move, and she was bleeding a worrisome amount of blood all over the bed. He had no idea how much she had already bled, but her skin was an unhealthy white color that lacked all semblance of a flesh-tone to it. She looked like a walking corpse.

 “Kesh, come on. I can’t do anything from here, but you have to get up.”

 He repeated his last statement like a mantra, trying to will Keshaara up and moving, even if it hurt her to do so. If she slept, if she just relaxed, he was certain he was going to lose her to death and Hel’s embrace, and he could not do that. Even if she had said that she was certain her companions would return within six days, and even if that sixth day was no more than ten hours away, he did not want to consider what it would mean if Keshaara died.

 “Quit… _nagging_ , Loki,” she finally gasped out, rolling onto her least mangled arm and propping herself up.

 Blood poured from her wounds as if aggravated by her movements, and Keshaara wavered. Grunting softly, she moved her tongue around her mouth. When she opened her mouth wide, Loki could see the fangs that had replaced her canine teeth had lengthened almost too far to fit in her mouth. She reached her fingers into her mouth, and with a pop and crack, dislodged one of her loosened teeth, pulling it from her bruised gums and flicking it across the cell. Her tongue worried the new hole left by the missing tooth, but assured that none of its neighbors were going to fall as well she pulled her fingers from her mouth. Blood coated her remaining teeth, and she spat, trying to get the cloying taste out of her mouth. Her blood should not taste good to her, and it was a testament to how starved she was that it did.

 She shook with weakness as she reached for the blanket to cover her naked, broken body. Not that Loki had not seen it all, she just did not feel like looking at herself. Keshaara could feel that her nose was broken, and that there were bloody bruises forming beneath each of her eyes. She reached up with a shaking hand and cracked her nose back into place, grunting with the sudden flash of pain. Loki winced at the sound.

 “Are you…”

 “Don’t ask, Loki. Don’t speak. I can handle this. I told you I’ve had worse. This is still not the worst one. I only have salt in four wounds and they only stuck their hands halfway in. Today, at least.”

 Her voice was soft and tremulous, but the familiar bite of steel was hidden beneath the words. She was bloody, yes, but not yet broken. She breathed sharply through her nose as she sat up and started touching her new wounds. Many of them would scar, she was sure, unless she healed them. But she was too hungry to think straight, let alone manage a master-class spell that would be needed to heal herself.

 “I am going to _kill_ them.”

 The venom in her words took Loki aback. He knew that she had just been raped, tortured, and raped again in some sort of sick cyclical mockery of a party. She caught his gaze and held it, her reddened eyes burning. She looked mad, as if something deep inside of her had shattered. He looked again, at a mirror, and recognized it.

 “But I need to take something from you first.”

 He tensed. Keshaara advanced on him, standing on shaking legs that bled from gashes deep enough to nearly reach bone, broken and bloodied. She did not falter as she walked. She was determined, she was everything she needed to be in that moment and there was nothing Loki could do to stop whatever she wanted.

 She stood in front of him, nose to broken nose. Loki had already felt the drugged pleasure-pain of a vampire’s bite and he full expected to feel her so very long fangs part the flesh over his jugular and for his blood to be drained.

 What happened instead was so much better.

 And so, so much worse.

 Keshaara’s mind reached for his, and wrapped through his thoughts. He was suddenly possessed by her, and he could only hold still as he was utterly overtaken by Keshaara. The only thing he could sense in the truest sense of the word was the tip of her nose touching his. Keshaara was all throughout his mind, and he felt rather like a dusty old tome being taken off the shelf after too long in rest. She flipped through the years of his life like they were pages, and he felt her joy and revulsion as she saw everything about him. Everything. There was no way to hide when she was inside his mind. He was an open book, and she, a rather uncaring reader.

 But he could not see exactly what she was looking for, only that she was looking. Strands of thoughts, half-thought memories wafted through his consciousness, and he recognized them as foreign. After a moment of shock, he recognized them as Keshaara’s. Her thoughts, her memories, her innermost self was not hidden from him, just as he was not hidden from her. Keshaara showed no signs of stopping her full-force investigation of his deepest secrets, so he delved wholeheartedly into what he saw, staring deeply into her past.

 He watched her, from the moment she had a semblance of selfhood to her, until the moment they were at right now. He watched her as she watched herself, as she watched him, as she grew and learned and blossomed and was named Dovahkiin. He watched her trials and tribulations and felt a ripple of nausea go through him again as he realized how many times she had been as she was now. He watched the betrayal, the learning and forgetting, the way her friends turned to enemies and enemies never managed to turn into friends. He watched it all. And then watched it again, because comparatively, her life was short. A blink. That was all there was to Keshaara.

 So Loki delved deeper, looking into thoughts and aspirations, looking at the very things she held at the core of her, not just the memories she held and the actions that shaped her. He looked for her favorite things, her least favorite things, for her fears and dreams, and found them all. He looked deeper than that, even, searching for things that were her utmost center and was assaulted by a barrage of words and feeling, but nothing concrete.

 “ _Enough_.”

 At that word, he was thrown back from her mind, into his own body that somehow now felt like it was missing something with her absence. He felt incomplete, and empty, but Keshaara clearly had garnered what she had needed.

 She pressed her dry, cracked, and bloodied lips to his, and Loki felt a deep **shift** inside of him, as if something had been pushed to the side…or taken forcibly. His eyes fluttered and his head rocked back away from her.

 When he could see straight, an unfamiliar sight greeted him. Like many others had on the field of battle over his many years, he watched as his green and gold armor wrapped a glittering embrace a body that was not his own. Keshaara’s nakedness melted from view, and she was garbed in his armor. _His_ armor draped on her body, tightening and shifting to fit her as perfectly as it fit him. _His_ cape draped her shoulders, providing her the regal air he wore as rightful heir to thrones. _His_ helm wrapped around her head. She was wearing his skin and he would be damned before admitting how stunning she looked dressed in his clothing. The green made the reds of her eyes, and of her blood, seem that much more striking. She looked to be the same shape and form of an Aesir when she wore proper clothing, and Loki's heart stuttered in anticipation.

 The face beneath the helm was still bloodied, beaten and bruised, with still-seeping wounds on her lips. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he tasted her coppery blood.

 He wanted to disbelieve his eyes, because no one had managed to do such a thing, no one had ever even though of it and here she was, standing in his armor as if it were the easiest thing in the world to do. She was giving _him_ his own quirked half-smile. She was damned proud of what she had done. Loki’s armor was on her body and she had what she needed to carry on.

 “Keshaara…how?”

 She shrugged a single shoulder.

 “Have to use what I have. I have you. And so, used.”

 Keshaara spoke so casually, even as her lip spilled more blood down her chin, that Loki felt twisted awe to know that he was going to witness this. Whatever was coming, it would be glorious. She reached up (he watched spreading dark stains on his armor), and neatly pulled the manacles from the wall. Suddenly having his arms available to him was too much for him to handle, and he stumbled forward. His shoulders and chest ached and his hands tingled with the rush of blood.

Keshaara caught him, her knees buckling for a moment under his sudden weight, but she held him up and gently spun him so he could sit on the bed.

“You should rest Loki. I may still need you.”

 He sat, relieved that he could be in any position other than strung up as he had been, but Keshaara still concerned him. She turned towards the door, a manic light in her eyes.

 “Kesh, what are you going to do? You are too weak to-”

 “I said _enough_ with the nagging Loki. There is an infinity of magic somewhere, and I will find it or let it consume me. I will not let this happen again. The vampire threat ends now. If I must end with it, then the prophecy was wrong, and there is another Dragonborn that will rise. But the threat **ends**.”

 She snapped her head to the cell door, and Loki felt the pressure change as she built her magic around her. Nearly indistinguishable from how he manipulated his own magic, Keshaara’s power thrummed and the door was thrown far from her.

 Keshaara did not look back to him. With a flair of her cape that made him both envious and proud, she stepped out into the cave, ready for battle, despite blood slicking her skin beneath the armor and her life slowly dripping out of her. But she was furious and that was fuel enough for her power.

 “Yol Toor _SHUL_.”

 The words were a firestorm, and consumed the cave. Keshaara, Dovahkiin, was well prepared to make her final stand.


	32. Bahlaan

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

Keshaara felt ill, she felt hungry (Divines did she hunger), but most of all, she felt _rage_. She was furious, and rightfully so. She had been abused, she had been raped, she had been mocked and tortured and she was not going to stand for it again. The fires faded from her view, leaving scorched marks everywhere.

 Her borrowed armor was not even singed, and she felt magic thrumming through her. Hunger turned vampires into monsters. Raving monsters, creatures of fury and plague and horror, and if Keshaara was going to be their plaything, well then they would have to deal with her ire, then, wouldn’t they?

 The mages were the first to recover from her initial attack, flinging fire and lightning back at her. Keshaara pulled a ward spell up around her, letting their paltry excuses for magic arc around her. Loki rose up behind her, intending to step forward, and without a second thought, she threw a hand backwards, a secondary ward-spell manifesting, keeping Loki penned in, and rouge magics out.

 He shouted something at her from behind the barrier, but she ignored him. There were more important things about. Like killing every last vampire in the room with her. She knew Harkon would not dare show his smug face until he thought that she was tired and beaten, and spend his time sending his plethora of goons to die. Keshaara had no issue with this plan. She was perfectly content to absolutely gut every last vampire she came across.

 Lightning crackled at her fingertips, and she threw it in a wide arc around her. She could not think straight enough for healing spells, or to manage a proper illusion spell, but she was a master-classed mage of Winterhold and Destruction had always come easy to her. With all of the Dragonborn’s considerable skill, she traded blows with the mages, waiting for the moment when the less magically-inclined vampires would rush her. The magic seemed to be keeping them at bay.

 That, or the proclivity for lightning to lash out at anyone who got too close to her. Archers stepped up with enchanted bows and arrows, but Keshaara’s ward spells were beyond second nature to her, and the arrows were always deflected wide. She possessed no fear, she was not wavering. Her magic came from deep within her, and even if she did not know how long it would last, even if she could no longer sense the natural limitations her body had, she would fight and use every last drop of it to kill these people.

 They had hurt her – and they had done the same to countless others.

 Even if she did not want to be, she was still Dovahkiin and this was not going to stand. Not while she was around to stop it. She had been afraid last time, she had been afraid and weak and unsure of herself as Dragonborn.

 That time had passed.

 She was Keshaara, Dragonborn, Ysmir, Thane, Companion, and _one pissed off Nord_.

 Fire exploded outward from her again, and she screamed her challenge at the vampires, beating a fist on her chest. Her pain meant nothing. She did not feel the pain. She did not acknowledge the pain or the blood that ran freely down her body. She was Keshaara, Dragonborn, and she felt nothing.

 Frost was next, cracking through the air, dancing fractals upon the ground. It reached for and wrapped around the unfortunates who could not dart away fast enough. Deep freeze was a light term for the sudden frost that wrapped around their legs. Even the slightest movement was enough to cause their frozen limbs to shatter, leaving more than a few of them lying on the ground with half-frozen stumps where their legs had been. And the ice only crept ever higher, even as they screamed.

 She wanted to hurt those who had raped her, who had abused her body for the sake of hearing her screams. Their own howls of pain and misery rose in the air and Keshaara drank the sounds in with more gusto than she would have drank blood. She wanted, she wanted, she _wanted_ them to hurt.

 Keshaara spun her magic like the Master mage she was. She was battlemage, she was shaping up to become the next Archmage of the College and if she only had her magic to her power, she would use just that.

 “Faas Ru Maar,” she snarled, her voice carrying through the caves. Acoustics and the storm-voice of a dragon did wonders. The weakest of the vampires, the fledglings, and any others that could not stand to hear her thu’um began to run for the only exit. An exit that happened to go right past Keshaara.

 Those unfortunates soon met with a gruesome end. Lightning chained between them all, leaving brutal wounds and dead bodies in its wake. The fire at her fingertips flickered, indicating to the other mages that Keshaara was soon to be running out of magicka. Keshaara herself, however, could not sense such a thing was happening. She was still starvingly hungry, and she could feel nothing but that hunger. Not even her own failing body could make her stop.

 The sweet smell of blood was in the air, and she reveled in it. She wanted more, to smell more of it, but her hunger was pointed. She wanted only one person’s blood, and he was standing behind a wardspell. Loki’s blood had completely shifted everything her vampirism craved. Harkon had been at least somewhat intelligent in throwing in there with him. Keshaara had already tasted Loki’s blood once and had found it to be beyond anything she had ever drank before, and the constant nearness had made her that much more sensitive to him.

 But Keshaara was not going to hurt him, not when there was so much else she could be doing with her hunger.

 Her hunger reached deep into her, and she felt a sudden crack in her back. The feeling was foreign to her, though it did not seem what was happening was foreign to anyone else. The vampires stilled, looking at her with terror, with awe, and most of all, respect. She saw her hands, and noted that they were a strange blue-grey, covered in the ritual scars she knew were from Loki’s Jotun blood.

 There was a hush over the other vampires, and her wings, bony and barely fleshed, flared out. She lifted off the ground, and she felt the magic surge through her again. Keshaara felt something important…leave her. Her mind was fuzzy. Something was wrong, but she could not tell what.

 She hissed, baring her fangs at the vampires around her. They knelt, bowing their heads to her.

 She heard a laugh from behind her. Harkon was walking towards her, tall and regal in his own Vampiric Lord form. Keshaara growled at him, the sound low and ominous.

 “You are truly worthy of me then, Keshaara. I have never seen a more beautiful Lord than you.”

 The words were drugged, cloying and sweet, and they echoed in her mind. She liked hearing those words from him. It made so much sense. He was a vampire, like her, and they clearly had the same power. Why had she been so concerned before? Harkon and her would make a wonderful couple. She should have seen that ages before today. She and he. Much better than he and whoever that other woman was. Keshaara and Harkon, harbingers of the eternal night, rulers of Skyrim.

 Yes, that was right.

 Harkon made a gesture, and one of the vampires rushed to Loki, dragging him out of the cell as Keshaara’s ward spell wavered, and faded completely. Loki was mumbling something in his native tongue, but Keshaara could not bring herself to really care overmuch what he wanted to say. His knees were kicked out from under him and he was made to kneel before her. Someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head back and to the side, despite his pained objections.

 “Drink from your pet daedra, then. And when you are done, I will drink from you, and you from me, and the circle will be complete. We will bring about night everlasting, _together_.”

 She hummed in happy agreement, and turned to Loki. He was being held, arms twisted behind his back, hair pulled so that his neck was exposed, kneeling to her side. Keshaara dismissed the vampire holding him, and stooped down so that her face was next to his. She nuzzled his neck, breathing his singularly unique scent deep into herself. He smelled utterly divine. Her mouth opened and she pressed her teeth into his skin. She did not bite him, not immediately. First, she let her mind reach for his again, wrapping him in the heady drugging vampires used to relax their prey.

 She was not going to bite him until he begged her to. She liked hearing the desperation, she liked hearing him broken and keening. At first, he resisted, pulling away from the pinpricks of her teeth, and muttering something about her needing to stop what she was doing. So Keshaara just increased the pressure on his mind, reaching for the pleasure-centers of his brain and setting them all alight. She was rewarded with a stuttering, pleasured groan from Loki. He reached for her legs, clutching them desperately and babbling in his language again. When her fangs breached his skin, he moaned, urging her further and further on.

 His mind had been pressured to accept her touch, her fangs, her bite, and to him, there was nothing more glorious than letting Keshaara drink from him. Each mouthful she took from him drove him closer and closer to the edge of blissful oblivion. His blood tasted just as it had when she had first tasted it in Lakeview Manor. It was as sweet as cream, cold enough to make her breath frost, and it tasted like mint, like the Roarer in the sky, like so many thousands of other things that she could not piece them together all at once. Keshaara merely knew that the taste was _that._ She stopped before he could obtain that nirvana, and withdrew from him. Loki whined piteously, and her mind slowly withdrew from his.

 “Sorry Loki. I could not keep my promise. But I will now,” she whispered as his body was returned to him. He turned to look at her, his pupils wide and searching. He understood what she was saying, but the dregs of desire had not left him, and he still wanted her teeth in his neck again.

 Harkon looked at her as she rose. Loki was clearly drained, but not yet dead. Odd, but it did not matter. The daedra did not harm her with its blood, so now he could drink from –

 Keshaara’s speed was utterly unmatched. Harkon never stood a chance. She hit him like a sabercat in full-sprint, her mouth clamping over his throat and biting down furiously. His blood tasted of ash and dust, and burned her throat like fire salts did. But it was power. It was power condensed in a liquid form. He screamed, of course. She did not bother trying to mollify the pain of having blood forcibly siphoned from his veins. He deserved the pain.

 Keshaara did not stop drinking until there was no blood left. Her danced at her fingers and the husk of Harkon was consumed by flames as red as her eyes. There was no more Harkon. No more. Her grey ridged skin faded, leaving her as just Keshaara again. Keshaara in Loki’s armor, and nothing more. She may now be the supreme vampire present, but she was full of blood, her skin was healed, and she felt…she felt…

 “Oh, _Loki_ ,” she purred, pulling his helm from her head and letting it fall to the floor. The gathered vampires were still kneeling and looking upon the new Supreme Vampire Lord of Skyrim with equal parts fear and awe. “I am so sorry Loki. But _thank you_.”

 She pulled him to his feet, holding her hand to the bite wound she had inflicted upon him. He did not want to admit it, but he rather liked seeing her like this, feeling her like that.

 There was a thrum in the air. Vampires rose, suspended mid-air by their necks, held there by an invisible force. Those that evaded being held in the air rushed her, intent upon killing her now that she had destroyed their Master and decided that she would be no Mistress to them. Loki brought his hands up, ready to defend himself from the attackers. An arrow sang out of the sky, and hit the closest vampire, all at once it was engulfing it in flames. Keshaara whipped her head around, and smiled broadly at the sight that greeted her. She had recognized the fletching on the arrows as belonging to Aela and behind them...

 A group of men and women, tough and grizzled and all bearing the same sort of cruel light in their eyes stood at the top of the cave. The Companions.

 The vampires looked shocked, Keshaara smiled, and there was mad, bloody chaos. The vampires that had been lifted had their necks snapped in concerto, one mighty CRACK resonating through the area. Keshaara had both of her hands up, and new magic flickered around her hands. The men and women at the mouth of the cave rushed in, howling and screaming like animals. Loki was stunned as he saw three of them turn berserkir, roaring into the same huge body Keshaara had once possessed. Blood and body parts were strewn about as weapons and berserkir met vampires and their magics. It was a short fight. Even if the Companions were outnumbered, there was no denying that these people knew how to work together.

 Keshaara’s ward protected him from the magic that still whirled in the air. She threw wards left and right as her friends came to her aide, deflecting attacks they did not see or did not know to defend against from them, sending waves of gold to alight upon their wounds and heal them, all while laying down massive crushes of ice and fire and lightning to kill those who were out of their range. With the rush of assistance the battle was over quickly, and the vampires destroyed en masse. Loki watched as the last blade was sheathed, standing awkwardly next to Keshaara, shirtless and uncomfortable. She was still wearing his armor and the appreciative murmurs it drew made him slightly envious.

 “Sister, you are, for the most part, I see, unharmed. The armor is new. I appreciate it.”

 It was Aela, walking forward to embrace Keshaara first. Keshaara smiled, flashing long and sharp fangs at her sibling, and opened her arms to the other woman.

 “Yes, for the most part, unharmed. The armor is a construct from Lokil. Master mage of Winterhold, and a dear friend of mine. He is the reason I am unharmed,” Keshaara said, stepping to the side to present Loki properly to the Companions gathered. “Lokil, these are my brothers and sisters, Companions of Jorrvaskr. We are, as you would say, berserkir. But we are family.”

 Loki nodded a greeting to all those gathered, swallowing his words until he knew what would be acceptable to say. These were formidable warriors, sure to be the envy of those on Asgard, even as mere mortal beings, even as _berserkir_. One of the great berserkir transformed back into a man and advanced quickly on Keshaara. The man had tattoos around his eyes, dark dreadlocked hair, and pale eyes, with brows furrowed with concern. He swept Keshaara up into his arms, lifted her off her feet and pressed his lips to hers hungrily. The man kissed her ferociously, weaving one hand into her hair and pulling. The gathered people hooted and jeered, and Loki felt a surge of jealousy. The man released Keshaara and set her back on her feet and she was still grinning broadly at him.

 “Dear, you should know better than to kiss a vampire like that. I could hurt your tongue,” she chided, reaching up to rest her hand on his cheek.

 The man chuckled, and his voice was low and gravelly. He cupped her hand with his, pressing her petite (by comparison) palm flat against his flesh. For a moment, the two merely looked at each other, and Loki would have had to have been completely blind to miss the not-at-all subtle undercurrent of absolute trust between the two of them.

 “Kesh, you could not hurt me in a way that could keep me from using my tongue regardless.”

 Keshaara shook her head, but smiled still, pulling her hand from his face and turning back to Loki. The man looked to him as well, his face unreadable, but filled with some manner of emotion, regardless.

 “Lokil, this is my husband, Farkas. Companion of Jorrvaskr-”

 “And very pleased to meet the man who has been keeping my wife safe on her travels,” Farkas said, sweeping Loki up into an equally tight hug as the one he had given his wife.

 Loki froze up, Keshaara giggled, and Farkas eventually released him, setting him back on his feet.

 “Husband, assist me in finding my armor. Lokil, banish this armor from my form. I thank you immensely for keeping me protected and offering me your blood when it was needed. You have done much for me, and it shall not be forgotten.”

 Loki looked to Keshaara, and she winked at him. She had intentionally spoken loud enough for all gathered to hear it, while still managing to make it seem as if she was only speaking to him. Loki nodded, and he went about the strange task of pulling his magical armor back to him, off of her body. Farkas wandered off to go find her armor in whatever chest it had been placed in, along with finding a few choice new pieces of armor and armament for himself. Loki and Keshaara were rather alone, standing in the middle of the cave, watching as others pillaged the bodies of the vampires.

 Farkas brought the familiar pouch to his wife, along with a few shiny baubles that he draped lovingly over her neck and shoulders, and as Loki brought his armor back to him, transforming it into magic and mist, her own armor replaced it. There was a moment where he could see skin, whole and perfect beneath her flesh, and then it was Keshaara, Dovahkiin standing before him again. Albeit with red eyes and fangs capable of tearing through any flesh she wished to taste.

 “May we return home, husband? I wish to seek the wisdom of Kodlak. I do not want to remain as I am. I wish to be a Companion. I want to belong to our family again.”

 Farkas bent down to brush hair from her eyes and kissed her sweetly. Loki did not entirely expect the flash of jealousy that rushed through him, but for some reason, seeing a larger man, more physically built and obviously a warrior (not a mage) grasp Keshaara by the waist and kiss her with fervor made him tense. Farkas was not at all what he was expecting Keshaara to have chosen as a husband, and for the life of him, Loki could not see why she would have picked that one of all the men in her country.

 The Companions, satisfied that she was safe, and that the loot that could be had, had been had, began filtering out of the cave, some calling out raunchy suggestions to the married pair, but all happy and content that Keshaara was, for the most part, unharmed. There was time a plenty on the ride back to Whiterun to say what needed to be said and discuss what happened, but for now, there was just happiness.

 When the majority of people had left, Farkas swooped in on Loki, and kissed him just as soundly as he had just been kissing his wife.

 Keshaara smacked him on the arm.

 “Not until we’re home, Farkas! I told you I would share the men and women I bed if they were willing, but _patience_ , please, husband. I had not even discussed it with him yet.”

 Farkas chuckled against Loki’s lips, but withdrew, leaving a stunned Loki standing very, very still.

 “As you say, my dear. Let’s go then, Lokil of Winterhold, savior of my wife.”

 Keshaara rolled her eyes, and turned to also press her lips to Loki’s.

 “Thank you, Lokil. You have saved me, and I appreciate that more than you know. You gave me strength when I had forgotten what it meant to be strong. I will see that the Companions forever sing of what you did for me, and that your name is written in the stars alongside of mine. I would not have gotten this far without you,” she said softly with her lips still on his.

 Loki flushed scarlet, reeling from all that had happened and the blood loss. Keshaara grinned at him, and nudged her nose against his, before turning to accept the second bag – Loki’s bag of books, and armor. His armor, the armor Keshaara had made for him, snapped onto him the moment she touched his hand to press the bag into his grasp.

 “Let’s go.”

 He walked alongside Keshaara and her odd, berserkir husband of interesting affections, out of the cave, into the mid-night moonlight, and felt…happy.


	33. Loan

 The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

The ride back to Whiterun was a long one. Frost and Shadowmere had been brought back, and with Loki and Keshaara mounted, the Companions rode on. Farkas and his mount stayed close to Keshaara, and as they rode, Loki would catch the other man staring half-dreamily at his wife. Because yes, that was the man Keshaara had chosen to marry in whatever ceremony they had used. Every so often, Keshaara’s hand would drift out from the reins of Shadowmere, and Farkas would gently touch it, just as reassurance that he was still there.

 When the sun rose, Keshaara reached into her pack for a hood, removing her helmet so she could slip the hood on and pull it over her eyes. An errant beam of light hit her face and she hissed, hunkering down in Shadowmere’s saddle and trying to hide her sensitive skin from the light.

 Farkas frowned, and held a huge hand out to block the sun from her eyes. Keshaara grumbled, but allowed it, too wrapped up with attempting to not burn in the sun to push his hand away.

 “Kesh?” Loki queried, confused by what was happening.

 “Vampires don’t like the sun, Lokil. Keshaara is now the Master Vampire of Skyrim. Very powerful, as befits her, but very vulnerable in the light. She could burn if she lets the sun alight upon her skin overlong.”

 Loki hummed in understanding to the person who had spoken to him, looking to a grumpy Keshaara with a smile.

 The long ride back to Whiterun (sans stops for camping or hunting or anything else) took a handful of days, most of which was filled with easy light banter between the Companions, Keshaara, her husband, and Loki. To Loki’s immediate shock, they played the game of questions as he and Keshaara had. Granted, with more people, the game was infinitely more complex, following rules that he was not entirely sure of.

 He was drawn into the game, after Keshaara gently told the others that he was not used to this intensity, so he was allowed more than a few leniencies that did not seem to be offered the others. The questions were quick, barely out of a mouth before being answered, sometimes with words, othertimes with a quick wink and a smirk. There were rules and regulations, and the more Loki watched, the more he came to think he perhaps understood it.

 Keshaara fielded her questions with more poise than she had ever answered his own questions. There were no lies on her lips, but the questions she did not want to answer were carefully turned away from the most truthful of truths in favor of gentler half-truths. Quarter truths…truths surrounded by pretty words and prettier hand gestures. He, after having felt Keshaara’s mind touch his own more than once and more intimately than he had ever thought possible, was rather thrilled that he felt her presence again, subtly reaching out to him, and presumably, to everyone gathered to quash questions she did not feel like answering.

 Perhaps he had not given her enough credit. She had been open and trusting with him, and he had assumed that she was like that to everyone. Even watching her at the College had done nothing to dissuade that particular thought from his mind. She was, to most, he had assumed, as she was to him.

 But she was not.

 The more he observed, the more he realized that Keshaara was…malleable. More so than he had thought possible in the beguilingly open woman he had been travelling with. He could tell she was withdrawing into herself, layering masks over herself until she was perfectly acceptable to the people surrounding her. The only people who seemed to notice were him…and her husband, who frowned at her whenever she said something that was not entirely truth, and shook his head at her when he caught her smirking at him.

 That only made Keshaara laugh, though she waved it off as part of the vampire’s mania (which tasted as a lie). Loki grinned in appreciation, and Farkas snorted beneath his breath.

 Keshaara mouthed something at her husband, which made the man flush and turn away from her quickly. Mischief danced in her red eyes, and Loki felt that flash of jealousy again. What were they saying, what was making Farkas blush, why was she saying it to _him_ , what made her think that it was so perfectly acceptable that she whisper dirty nothings to her husband in full view of him?

  _Oh, hush, Loki. You should know perfectly well what my husband and I are planning. Your green envy suits you far less better than your armor. Farkas merely needs to know that he is my husband. If you are too consumed by envy, you will lose your invitation to my bed this eve._

 Her voice curled into his mind as if she had spoken just into his ear. Loki whipped his head around to look at Keshaara, but she was answering a question that had been asked of her. She was smiling though, a graceful tilt of her head accompanying the answer she was giving. Her eyes just barely travelled over to Loki, and the skin around her eyes tightened in an unreadable expression.

 Deep inside his mind, he felt her presence again, and it **pushed** on something he did not know existed, but all at once, sunbursts of blistering pleasure exploded behind his eyes. Loki did his best to swallow the gasp that rose, unbidden, in his throat. Arousal flushed his skin, and that smirk of hers was back. He growled as threateningly a he could, and the presence in his mind only **pushed** harder. His growl turned into a breathy moan, into a high-pitched keening sound that he covered with his hand over his mouth. The arousal had turned his blood to fire, and there was no way to escape it.

 “Kesh, come on,” Farkas grumbled at his antagonizer, and Loki could only watch as her gaze turned to the other man. Said man stiffened in the saddle almost immediately, his pale eyes going glassy and unfocused.

  _Both of you are so funny. Did you really think I would stand for this alpha-male grandstanding from either of you? Must I punish you both?_

 The force behind the word ‘punish’ made Loki’s cock jump painfully in his pants and desire curl deep down inside of him. Oh lords above, there were **images** to accompany what she was pushing onto him. They flashed too quickly for him to really see what they were, but he got the general gist of what was being shown him. Him, tied down and panting, his skin flushed red, her teeth setting into his flesh, her nails raking down his sides, the scent of blood heavy and coppery in the air, and by the Norns, he could practically _feel_ her cunt wrapped around him. They were outdoors in most of them, and he, pinned up against a tree as he had been the time when she had bested him in a pitched battle and it made the half-seen scenes all the more salacious for that fact. A low moan had started in the back of his throat before he caught it, but to his left, he heard a growling huff. When he turned, he saw Farkas, stooped down in his saddle, his ears and neck the same brilliant scarlet of Loki's not-brother’s cloak.

  _Behave, boys._

 Her words were absolutely sinful when whispered into his mind like that. She should not have the capability to affect him like she was. Then again, she was inside his mind, dithering about with his feelings and emotions and pushing on things inside him that made him hot all over. She knew exactly what she was doing. She had been inside him deep enough to pull his armor from his body and do it with such efficiency that she had not needed to fear his magic lashing out at all. Keshaara was dangerous.

 She was dangerous and very very very attractive.

  _Yes, yes I am, Loki. So kind of you to notice._

 Her voice was in his mind, but that had not kept her from speaking as well. She continued her mental assault, stroking him in a manner he had never experienced before. He felt like he was moments away from shaming himself publically, but the moment of release never came for him. Keshaara kept him on edge, kept him hard and nearly bursting at the seams and she had the audacity to _smile_ while she made him suffer so. She did not let up on her assault, pressing on all of his most intimate of places with her mind, sliding through his body like smoke. It was maddening and incredibly arousing.

 The rest of the ride passed in amicable conversation. The game of questions waxed and waned as they carried, on, and Keshaara never once left his mind. He could not escape her teasing, her sinful voice, the heavy presence of her in his thoughts, and the not-at-all-subtle hints of laughter that echoed through his head.

 And all along the way, Keshaara smiled. Everything was fine, everything was brilliant and lovely and she felt fine. Yes, she was a vampire still, but she had succeeded in doing something wonderful. She had conquered that which had frightened her, and she was returning home a hero, even if she was only heroic in the matter in her own mind and no one else’s. Keshaara felt nigh invincible, something she knew was caused by the blood that burned inside of her. She did not care though. Everything was wonderful. She was powerful and mighty, she had her family with her, and one of her greatest fears ad been conquered.

 Alduin did not seem so terrifying after all.

 

* * *

 

 Whiterun’s gates loomed before them. Keshaara paused before the group grew too close to the guards, reaching a hand up to touch her brow. She did not want to be pegged a vampire and attacked. The guards may forget her Thaneship in favor of exterminating a vampire. Not that she blamed them, really. Vampires inside Whiterun were terrible.

 Her red eyes faded back to orange, covered by flickering magic. Her pale skin regained some of its normal tanned color, deepening back to what it had been the last time she had been through these gates. There was not much she could do about her teeth, so she quickly practiced smiling without opening her lips. Farkas had remained behind to watch, grunting his approval of how she looked before jerking his head towards the gates. She withdrew her mental presence from Farkas and Loki, and only Loki made a small sound of protest. A sound he tried to swallow down, but still managed to draw a gruff laugh from Farkas.

 “We’ll get you inside as soon as we can. Kodlak will speak with you tomorrow morning,” Aela said from further in front of her.

 Keshaara nodded, careful to keep her illusions in check as she began the final part of their ride to Whiterun. The sun was high in the sky above them - it was near noon and with a single quick motion (before she could regret it), she swept the hood off of her head, turned her face to the sun and offered the bright orb a terse smile.

 “Let’s go before I burn too terribly.”

 Farkas kicked his mount into movement, and Keshaara followed suit. She could manage this pain for as long as it needed for her to get inside of Breezehome. The Companions rode in raucous glory, whooping and hollering their victory to the stablehands and all who would listen. Together, they dismounted, letting the suddenly very overwhelmed stablehands to handle their horses. Keshaara moved with them, and pulled Loki along beside her. Greetings were called out to the Brave Companions of Jorrvaskr, and laughter rang bright and clear in the air.

 En masse, they walked the final steps up to the great gates of Whiterun, the guards opening the doors that protected the city to them. Keshaara was hailed mightily by the people inside the city, called out too and lauded as she triumphantly returned to the first place she had dared call home in Skyrim.

 Breezehome was but a few steps further, and the Companions, without seeming to do so, rushed her towards it, some standing between her and the sun, others distracting those who always seemed to have something for the Dovahkiin to do. Farkas even lifted her into his arms, carrying her as his bride once again, to the cheering of others. Loki was pushed along behind them, Keshaara reaching for him with a single extended hand.

 Farkas pushed her up against the door, fumbling in his bag for the key to their home. Keshaara laughed and licked his ear, getting an accompanying laugh from the gathered people and a grumble from her husband.

 Finally the door was opened, and Farkas kicked it the rest of the way open, barreling through it with Keshaara still in his arms. He set her down on her feet, turned, and grabbed Loki by the arm to pull him inside with them. The door was practically slammed in the noses of the gathering crowd. Farkas had Keshaara pushed up against the closed door moments later, disrupting her illusion with a ferocious kiss that had her gasping into his mouth.

 His hands were familiar and comfortable with her armor and with practiced ease, he started to divest her of the heavy pieces, throwing them over his shoulder without much care for where they landed. Loki was nearly walloped with her chestpiece as Farkas did his best to get her out of her armor as fast as possible.

 Farkas buried his face in the crook of her neck as soon as he was able to do so unimpeded. His blunted teeth dug into her neck, over the bite-scars she had gained in her time away from him, and Keshaara whimpered. Vainly, she bucked her hips against Farkas, whining when his hands did nothing more than continue undressing her.

 “Loki, get over here and kiss my wife while I get the rest of her armor off,” Farkas growled into her flesh, pulling back only far enough to make eye contact with the other man. Loki started, confused as to how this man knew his name, but it did not seem to bother Keshaara, so he surmised that Keshaara had told Farkas.

 “Farkas, Lydia…she’ll…”

 “I made sure Lydia would not be here as soon as Aela told us what had happened. I _miss_ my wife, Keshaara.”

 Keshaara’s answer was a low groan as her husband pinched her nipples. Farkas knelt at her feet to begin pulling her boots from her feet. Loki was hovering out of arm’s reach, unsure of what should be done. Farkas pushed the hem of her undershirt up and pressed open-mouthed kisses to her stomach. Keshaara was using the door to hold herself up, bracing herself as best she could.

 “I think I said to kiss my wife, Loki.”

 Keshaara made a small, needy noise in the back of her throat, and Loki stepped in, hesitating before gently pressing his lips to hers. Keshaara pulled him close, looping an arm around his neck and kissing him hungrily. Beneath them, Farkas hummed contentedly, and stripped Keshaara out of her boots and pants. Keshaara’s tongue twisted with Loki’s, and as odd as the situation was, there was an electric thrill deep in his belly. He had been edged for more than a day, and to finally feel the sweet touch of her lips on his was nearly too much stimulation at once. He pulled her closer, cupping her chin with both of his hands and thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth.

 When a broken moan spilled from her mouth into his, Loki chanced a glance down to where Farkas had been. The man had his head buried in the crux between Keshaara’s thighs. He saw the barest peek of Farkas’s tongue flicking out of his mouth to lave at Keshaara's slick cunt, and that was timed with another passioned cry from Keshaara.

 Her breaths could only come in short, labored pants. She keened, and Loki pushed her harder against the door, biting her lip savagely. Blood burst through her skin, painting both of their faces red. Loki could not help his own appreciative moan as Keshaara licked her blood from his lips and chin. The vampire in the room was going weak at the knees, trembling under the assault and the fresh scent of blood. Hesitantly, she returned Loki's nip, splitting his lip neatly to pull blood from him. Loki's rumbling moan rose in tempo as she sipped blood from the wound, met with her own appreciative moans.

 From below, Farkas sighed happily, and lifted Keshaara’s leg over his shoulder to get a better angle as he licked her cunt hungrily. Her answering, long, needling whine was all the encouragement the werewolf man needed. All at once, he stood, lifting her with the same movement and throwing her easily over his still-clothed shoulder.

 “If you want to join me and my wife on our marital bed, Loki of Jotunheim, come upstairs with us. If not, we can arrange for you to have a room at the local inn while she and I are reacquainted with each other.”

 Keshaara pushed herself up from her position over Farkas’s shoulder, holding herself high by planting both hands firmly on her husband’s ass. Loki had frozen when he had heard the words come from Farkas’s mouth, but there was no hidden venom in the word “Jotunheim”. Farkas had spoken the accursed words as easily as Keshaara said “Skyrim”, but without Keshaara’s emotional turmoil over it. To Farkas, it was clearly just another place. The realization did not put him at ease.

 This was…

 “If you are not comfortable with this, Loki, it is very acceptable to tell us so. Even in Skyrim, the relationship between Farkas and I is an odd one, so I am unsure if it is anything like what is known to you from Asgard or Jotunheim. If you wish to come up, and then decide you are not interested, you merely need to tell us, and we will see that you are tended to. If you wish to come up and join us and midway through you no longer find it suitable, you merely need tell us, if you wish to come up and only watch, just tell us. As long as you communicate with the both of us, we will tend to you.”

 Farkas rumbled his agreement, reaching up to swot his lovely Dovahkiin on her pert, bare ass. Keshaara squeaked in indignation, wriggling to try and get away from his hand. Loki could only process so much at once, but it was clear both of them were waiting on his response.

 “I would like to…go upstairs with you. To watch. For now.”

 His voice did not waver, but it seemed small in the suddenly much larger house. Farkas grunted, and turned towards the stairs. Keshaara mewled discontentedly when he did not let her down, kicking her legs ineffectively against his grip. As he started the climb up the stairs, with Loki following behind, Keshaara looked to the other man, catching his eye with a wink, and a wicked smile that made him start in surprise.

 She mouthed something he did not quite catch, but the very conspicuous lick of her lips that followed whatever she had said had blood rushing downwards very quickly, with visions of her on her knees before him again, her mouth doing that…that _thing_. His clothing was decidedly too hot, and as he stepped up onto the first stair, his fingers started absentmindedly working the armor Keshaara had made for him off of his body. He should not be this entranced by the scene, but he was.

 For posterity, he needed to see how this turned out.

 He was curious.

 He wanted to know more about these crude mortal creatures.

 He was not going to admit that there was a flush on his skin, or that he was painfully hard in his too-tight pants, or any number of things that had the image of Keshaara wrapping some part of her anatomy around certain parts of his. He was not going to admit it, but Norns, were they there.


	34. Rel

The Tale of the Dragonborn

(The Tale of the Jotun Prince)

* * *

 

 

Farkas threw her onto their bed, falling down on top of her, smothering her delighted giggle with a heavy kiss. She reached up to tousle his hair, smiling with an expression of near adoration on her face when he pulled away from her. Farkas dipped his head down to the curve of her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to all of the scars she had gained in her time away from him. He laved his tongue over the raised marks, soothing the healed hurts with reverent attention.

 Keshaara tilted her head away from him, allowing the ministrations with a pleased hum. It made her feel whole again to have her husband rewrite the pain of the scars with his gentle touch. Sometimes it took more than just one kiss to undo the deep feelings of revulsion and disgust, but even when Keshaara tensed, caught up in the memories of what had happened, Farkas would gently kiss her again.

 For two people who had been raised in a culture that did not value love in the marriages performed, they were clearly the sort of people who trusted each other implicitly. Keshaara allowed Farkas to touch and explore the new scars, running his rough fingers over long, raised, lines of pale scarring. She was silent as he moved across her body, arching her body up into his as he ran his fingers down her spine.

 Loki watched. He had stood by the door, letting the couple enter before him, and now felt rather stuck there. His hands were fisted at his sides, and he was really quite unsure of what to do with himself. Did he sit at the table in the corner, despite it having a subpar view of the couple? (No. Too intimate to sit and watch like that.) Did he leave entirely? (No, don’t be silly, now, you’re just nervous.) Standing awkwardly in the doorway was the best option he could think of as he continued to do nothing more than observe the couple.

 Farkas had divested himself of his rough leather chest armor, but still wore most of his lower armor and underclothing. Keshaara was well and truly naked, exposed and open. She looked vulnerable beneath her husband, who was much broader in the shoulder and chest than her, and even with her own impressive height, he loomed over her. It was the only time he had ever seen her as small. She was small, so very small, beneath Farkas, and it made Loki’s heart ache to see that.

 Keshaara trusted Farkas. She trusted him to lay his hands on the wounds of her flesh, wounds that Loki had heard be inflicted and heard her scream her agony over. She trusted him to not hurt her, even as his hands ghosted over the fresh bite-scars on her neck, covering her entire throat with one huge hand. She trusted him to be gentle, even though Loki had seen the man as _berserkir_ and tearing vampires apart with his bared hands. She was small and vulnerable and Farkas was not going to hurt her.

 Keshaara knew that Farkas would not hurt her. He was murmuring soft words into her hair as his hands slid down her sides, feeling out where her skin had been broken and caressing the healed flesh. She was still silent, reveling in the feeling. Farkas was her husband, and she trusted him implicitly. The fear and terror and agony of torture faded before him because he still trusted her and respected what had happened. None of the words that came out of his mouth spoke of where the fault lay. He knew from experience that she did not want to hear how it was not her fault. Instead he lauded her, mumbling praises for her bravery, her strength, her beauty. Keshaara wrapped herself in the words, letting them soften the hurts.

 Because of course she hurt. If she closed her eyes too long, the pain came back to her. She had tried so hard, and fought so hard that her body would react strongly to anything that made her feel like she was trapped again. Panic could utterly destroy her, and she knew that. Farkas was here though. Farkas was her husband, she trusted him, and he could make the hurts disappear, just for a bit. Because if the pain came back, she still had the memory of Farkas to overlay it, to soften it.

 Even the fabled Dovahkiin had night terrors that would keep her awake, wide-eyed and trembling, and sometimes being able to think of someone she trusted laying their hands over her wounds helped them seem less real in the moment. It did not change what had happened, or that the memories would forever haunt her. She just…sometimes it made it better.

 So Farkas continued, and Keshaara reveled in the feelings, and Loki watched.

 Loki watched the way her head would tilt so that Farkas could press his lips to her neck, her back would arch as he kissed the hollow of her throat, and trace patterns of kisses all the way down her breastbone, not once venturing to touch her more fully than half-there, feather-light caresses. It was only when Keshaara made a low sound of warning at her husband that he reached a hand up to cup one of her breasts.

 From there, the interaction took a decidedly more sexual turn, with Farkas holding her hips up towards him as he kissed her breasts. His teeth caught one of her nipples while he gently rolled the other between his fingers. Keshaara’s breathy whine was really all the encouragement Loki needed to move closer to the bed. He took a few steps forward, and then to the side, pulling a chair along with him and placing it at the side of the bed. The action elicited no immediate reaction, so he figured it was fine. Sitting there, _watching_ them…it was surprisingly decadent, even to his rather largess tastes. This was clearly an incredibly intimate moment, and here he was, just watching them.

 Farkas was still consumed with worshipping Keshaara’s breasts, smiling slightly as his wife’s impassioned sounds grew only louder.

 “Tell me, wife, did Loki do this for you?” Farkas asked, with his face still half-buried in her breasts.

 Loki froze, tensing as he prepared for some sort of verbal or physical abuse.

 Keshaara laughed, relaxing all at once into Farkas’s arms.

 “No. Our encounters were decidedly more passionate than this. Lots of hair pulling and biting. Really quite firey. He is quite the amorous man. You should hear his tongue wag when he comes undone deep inside me – the language of his milktongue is entrancing,” she purred back up to her husband. A smile danced on her lips, full of mischief and a challenge to her husband.

 “Well I certainly do want to hear _that_ then, don’t I? Tell me more of this man that has ravished you.”

 Loki felt a flush starting to creep up his neck.

 Keshaara hummed happily as Farkas layered kisses over kisses on her chest.

 “Have you beheld him, truly? Have you looked upon him in the lights of candles? Watched his hands worry at the fabric of his clothing? His hands, my darling husband, are things of utter beauty. The Daedra themselves could not carve a more perfect form for hands, and the beauty only continues as you behold him. He carries a fury within him, a cold rage that seeps out from his very bones and wraps around you in a way that I have never experienced before.”

 Farkas mumbled for her to continue, kissing lower and lower down her stomach.

 “His eyes burn like bewitching fire. He has…he has a way with words. He has this dastardly tongue that twists just as well in my mouth as in his. Loki is ice and _fire_ and it is damnably delightful to be burned by him. He is stronger than he would appear by our standards, easily capable of accomplishing feats of wonderous might. The way his…ahn, the way of his face, the shape and form of it, are pleasing enough to the eye that one could inebriate themselves merely by staring too intently at him. His voice, I could go on for eons about his voice. It is silk and sin in your ear, and to hear it in your ear is as close to the pleasure offered by Sanguine as anything else that exists.”

 Keshaara’s words were laced with the power of a vampire, and as the most powerful vampire of Skyrim, even just the lacing was enough to make Loki ache for her. Farkas seemed to handle the words that tumbled from his wife’s with ease, comparatively. He lifted her hips high and pressed his mouth hungrily against her cunt, kissing and licking her lower lips with the same affection and fervor as he had done with her upper ones.

 Keshaara sighed, but did not cease her diatribe.

 “He was quite surprised to find me married, however. Understandably, his culture places much value on loyalty between a man and his wife, and he was angered that I would betray you so. He changed his tune rather remarkably when I told him that you and I had a relationship of different sorts. He wanted to know how much you would dislike knowing that he had, oh what was the phrase…ravished me? That he was planning to do it again also featured heavily. I am sure, if he was given the chance to do so, he’d want to see my belly grow fat with his child and know you would have to raise it.”

 Loki tasted the lies for what they were, and nearly panicked, he looked to Farkas, unsure if this huge man was going to take offense to the mild to extreme fabrications Keshaara was spinning. Instead, the _berserkir_ chuckled into her thigh and pressed his face back into her dripping cunt.

 “I am unsure if he caught what I told him – that there is no fertility outside of this bed of ours. That neither of us can conceive a child upon ourselves or others if we are not here, in our marriage bed. But here it is possible. If I were not scarred, we would have children of our own already, for a surety. I suppose things truly are different where he is from. He would rather have me believe, if you can comprehend this my darling lunk of husband, that children raised by the same parents are not in fact brothers, but instead strangers in the same house.”

 Farkas looked up to his wife, his mouth glistening with her wetness.

 “Well that certainly is not right. What makes a brother, then? Vilkas and I have different mothers, and we are yet brothers, despite that. You had brothers and sisters aplenty. He is very odd then. Borderline unworthy of you for that very reason.”

 Keshaara laughed, and looked to Loki, smiling broadly. Loki was sitting stiffly in the seat he had pulled up, hands fisted in his lap and eyes wide with near-fright. He looked liable to bolt if anyone made a sudden movement in his direction. It was impossible to hide his arousal, however. His pupils were wide with desire and it did not take a trainee of Dibella to see the outline of his cock straining against the material of his pants.

 “But still worthy, Farkas,” Keshaara said softly, her voice hitching as her husband, again, worshipped her with his mouth, sealing his lips over her clit and lazily flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. “Still worthy.”

 The intensity that burned in her reddened eyes enraptured Loki. He found himself leaning in towards her, kneeling down at the side of the bed to get close to her. She looked up at him, her mouth parted. Soft mewls of pleasure would occasionally spill from her mouth, courtesy of whatever wicked lettering Farkas was sketching with his tongue. Loki wanted to taste those sounds to see if they were as sweet on his tongue as they sounded rolling off of hers.

 He was not entirely sure when he made the choice to kiss her, but her lips were on his, and her next desperate cry he swallowed down. It was greater than any aphrodisiac to feel her voice in his mouth. He reached for her, resting his hands gently upon her shoulders, standing ever so slightly so he could get a better angle on her. Keshaara made even more of those soft sounds of pleasure, and Loki’s eyes fluttered.

 Norns, did he _want_ her.

  _Then have me, Loki._

 Her words were in his mind, soft and whispered. He felt her hands grab a hold of his upper arms and all at once, she was pulling him up onto the bed, across her body, rolling and with a single, simple movement, straddling him. He blinked, confused and still muddylingly aroused. Keshaara leaned back, tilting her head back. Farkas was there almost immediately, kneeling behind his wife. Loki watched as another man’s hands reached around to fondle Keshaara’s breasts, and another man dipped his head to kiss her shoulders and neck.

 He heard a stuttering low groan, and it took him moments to realize it was him that was making that sound.

 Keshaara’s naked frame moved above him. The inside of her knees were just barely pressing into his hips (his clothed hips, why was he still wearing clothes?!), and she was aimlessly rocking her hips in the air. Loki was not such a gentleman that he would not look at the visual feast presented before him. Her skin was not flushed, but her nipples were taut, her head was back, her eyes were closed, and he could clearly see her arousal leaking down her spread legs. He ached to be there. Even if how he had been raised in Asgard had never allowed him to consider putting his mouth… _there_ , he had spent practically every moment inside this house watching Farkas make Keshaara’s back bend with nothing more than his tongue and now Loki wanted to put his own tongue to use again.

 He was Loki _Silvertongue_ , Realms be Damned, and he wanted to –

 His movements were stopped with a crackle of energy, and his hands were nearly painfully pulled back over his head and held there. Confused, he looked up to see an orange-glowing rope wrapped around his hands and tightening around the post of the bed’s headboard. Keshaara smirked when he looked back at her, lifting both of her eyebrows.

 “Cheeky minx,” Loki growled up at the Dovahkiin.

 She winked at him, and continued that slow gyration of her hips that had initially drawn his attention down to the glistening fluids dripping down her thighs. Loki could only _watch_ as Farkas’s hand dipped down his wife’s body and slowly started pumping two of his fingers in and out of Keshaara’s dripping cunt. The sounds were taunting enough – wet and loud and so very repetitive. Keshaara’s own moans rose over the top of them, rising in volume as her husband toyed with her nipple with his unoccupied hand.

 There were too many people on the bed.

 Too much clothing still being worn.

 Too much stimulation – if he closed his eyes, he could hear the incessant _schlck_ of Farkas’s fingers sliding in and out and in and out and in and out and Keshaara’s breathy moans, but if he opened his eyes, he could see _and_ hear what was happening but he could not touch or even move his hands down to touch himself.

 His skin felt like it was burning him, like it was too tight and he needed to explode out of it, and his clothes were nothing more than pure agony.

 But they did not stop.

 No, Keshaara kept fucking her husband’s fingers instead of Loki’s dick, she kept moaning Farkas’s name and not Loki’s, her breath was catching at what Farkas was doing and Loki was really relegated to nothing more than an interesting bedspread for the moment.

 And fucking Hel, it was the singularly most erotic thing anyone had ever done in his presence.

 Keshaara did not even allow her gaze to drop down to behold the man beneath her. She wanted to tease him for the slightest bit longer and it was not really teasing if she abandoned everything and dropped down onto him without really spending time teasing Loki. Really, _really¸_ teasing –

 “ _Loki_.”

 His name spilled from her lips. Beneath her, she felt Loki stiffen, his hips jerking up for just the barest moment before he stilled entirely. Farkas chuckled into her shoulder, and slowly withdrew his fingers from her.

 “Are you getting impatient, my wife?” he growled in her ear, using that one particular timber that travelled down deep inside her.

 Keshaara shivered in appreciation, turning her head to press a kiss to Farkas’s nose.

 “I am not a woman known for long periods of introspection. I want what I want,” she hissed back, nipping at her husband’s lip. Her fangs caught his flesh, and tiny pinpricks of blood blossomed from the miniscule wounds.

 She lapped at the blood, not particularly paying any attention to Loki beneath her. She was hungry. Farkas kissed her fully, holding her steady, even as she fruitlessly rocked her hips. There was that nagging, aching emptiness inside of her and she wanted it filled. Farkas’s hands had settled at her hip and side, and no longer moved to tease her.

 “This is true. But perhaps you should learn. If you ache so for Loki, I will have you oblige that ache. First with my cock in your cunt, and his in that fucking devious mouth of yours. Would that please my greedy little slut?”

 The words were blistering with heat, and Keshaara’s head dropped back to rest on Farkas’s shoulder. The words were not needlessly cruel, it was just how they spoke betimes. Her positioning was a clear sign of submission, and Farkas bent so that he could bite the delicate skin at the base of her neck, hard enough that a bruise formed nearly instantly, to Keshaara’s moaned delight. Loki’s hips jumped up again, and for the barest of moments his still cloth-covered dick brushed up against Keshaara’s sopping sex, but then gravity pulled him down and away from her. He had to bite back the whimper of desperation that wanted to bloom into a whine as Farkas’s clothing went flying across the room.

 The larger man grabbed Keshaara by her hips, pulling her back towards him with enough force to knock her forward onto her hands. That only put her closer to Loki, and she sealed her mouth to his. Loki kissed her with all the fervor he had built up inside, lifting his head off the pillows of the bed to press his mouth to hers. He wanted to do so much more than kiss her. He wanted her, he ached for her, and he did not even care that Farkas was in the same bed with them both and an active participant because it made this whole experience so much more _everything_.

 When Farkas started thrusting into Keshaara, pushing her forward into Loki’s kiss, Loki had a brief moment of panic – this was too similar to what had happened, when there had been blood in the air and she had looked at him with desperation and pain.

  _Hush, Loki. It is not what it was. Hush, it is not that, hush, hush._

 Her kisses were soft and gentle, even as she was rocked into him by her husband. Keshaara could feel Loki’s anxiety bubbling beneath his skin, and lay her mind over his. He gasped beneath her as, like she had done before, she pushed herself into his skin with him.

  _It is all alright now, Loki of Asgard, of Jotunheim, of Skyrim. I am here. I am well. You are here. You are well._

 In his mind, everything was different. Keshaara, still intrinsically connected back to her body could feel the rippling sensations of pleasure as they rolled through her, and she allowed those feelings to wash over Loki as well. In the landscape of his mind, they were merely two thought-forms entwined. Any feelings were mollified if they were to bring him pain. Keshaara wrapped him in her, embracing everything that he was and would be.

  _Hush Loki._

 Her pain, raw and open, was as on display as his. Her fear and fright and horrid memories were just as present as Loki’s own, but she did not let them command what she did. She allowed the pain to wash through them both, acknowledging it but not dwelling on it. The pleasure was what she was here for, the pleasure was what she wanted, the pleasure was what she was offering Loki. The intimacy of her mind pressed to his was just as wonderous as Farkas’s incessant thrusts.

 She kissed him fervently, pulling her mind from his. Loki cried out as he felt her absence. There was an odd fullness when her mind and his were together, and now, without it, there was an aching emptiness.

  _Kesh, I-_

_Loki, please. I will make it better._

 Her vampiric powers thrummed and all at once Loki felt himself being pulled away from her. He made a very undignified squawking noise at the sudden absence of feeling her lips on his and her body pressed to his. An invisible force was pulling him up the bed, unbinding the ropes from the headboard so he could readjust his arms behind him. As soon as his back was against the headboard and his wrists were re-bound and resting at the small of his back, the rope retied itself around the damned thing, and he was left at just the right height to watch Farkas fuck Keshaara. His head rocked back to hit the headboard of the bed, and he groaned long and low.

 Keshaara looked up at him, her red eyes bright with a smile. Loki could barely bring himself to look her in the eye because it felt like he was going to explode.

  _Oh? You cannot look at me? Then this next part will be even harder for you._

 He had no time to register her words before her hands were at the fastenings of his pants. As soon as her fingers brushed against his cock, he thrashed, his hips bucking up into her hands. Keshaara chuckled softly, and pulled his cock free. Farkas was still thrusting behind her, his hands on her wide hips, but all that Loki really cared about was how her fingers curled around his flesh and her tongue was peeking out from between her lips because she was **not** about to do that while her husband was fucking her.

 Keshaara gently stroked Loki’s dick, marveling at the fact that it was hard enough to resist being pulled towards her mouth. It was a marvelous cock, really, just as beautiful as Loki was and she could feel the blood surging through it. Her mouth watered in anticipation, and she lowered her head to it. Her tongue flicked out, catching the head of Loki’s dick as Farkas rocked her forward with a particularly well-timed thrust.

 Loki whined, his head resting on the carved wood behind him and his eyes very firmly shut. He regretted that decision, when, on the next thrust from her husband, Keshaara’s mouth engulfed him all the way to the base, her mouth hot and wet around him and her fangs pressing just ever so slightly against his skin. The threat of danger was there, but that only made him all the more acutely adore the situation.

 Farkas withdrew from inside of her, and her mouth slid back towards the head of his prick. Farkas pushed _in_ and she sucked him _down_ and Loki nearly broke both his wrists trying to get them out of the magicked ropes that bound him. His green eyes opened wide and there was a screaming groan that burst out of him. But Keshaara was already sliding her mouth back towards the tip, her tongue laving at his sensitive skin in a way he was certain would be counted as a war crime.

 “K- _kesh!_ ” he stammered, his silver tongue failing him spectacularly.

 Farkas was already thrusting in, and Keshaara was already moving back down and Loki’s vision went blurred around the edges because he was just that close to coming. Keshaara could feel his muscles jumping, and even as full as her mouth was of _him_ , she smiled.

 She hummed a questioning response as she slo-o-o-owly pulled herself back up the length of his cock. Loki thrashed, a choking curse spilling from his mouth. Keshaara lapped at the very head of his dick, delighting in the slight salty tang of his precum on her tongue. Farkas chuckled from behind her, and increased his pace. He was done with just taunting his wife and the man beneath her. As he thrust all the more rapidly into Keshaara, her mouth moved up and down Loki’s cock with more fervor. Loki was babbling again, weakly thrusting up into her mouth.

 His language was lilting frantically as he tried to get all the words out. It was nearly musical as his voice ululated. Keshaara’s own moans were directed directly into his flesh and he jumped, thrusting weakly back into her mouth. His vision, when he bothered to open his eyes, was filled with nothing but Keshaara and Farkas, and Farkas fucking Keshaara and Keshaara’s lips wrapped around him and there was nothing his mind (his brilliant, wonderful, whip-smart mind) could comprehend that was not –

 The ropes on his wrist slackened, and it was pure instinct that had Loki’s hands buried in Keshaara’s hair and pushing her head down his cock so he could thrust up even further into her throat because the only thing he wanted was more of her, to feel her moans around his cock as she drank the entirety of him down into her. Keshaara obliged him, moaning obscenely around his length in her mouth and partway down her throat. She worked him closer to the edge, moving her head in time with his thrusts so she could breathe when the moment was right, but as much as he was about to explode, his orgasm was just not coming.

 He was on the edge of it, it was nearly nearly nearly nearly _nearly_ there but he just could not cum. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. The blistering force of his orgasm was burning beneath his skin, but he could not…Desperation was an ugly thing but he had nothing else. He was desperate and hard and aching and he just wanted to rut and fuck and _fuck_ he could not _cum_.

  _Not in my mouth, you won’t._

 Keshaara’s voice in his mind made him curse aloud, and he thrusted back _up_ into her welcoming, wet, hot mouth. He could feel the texture of her throat around him as she swallowed him all the way down, the gentle undulations of her throat and the way her tongue rolled over his cock, and he felt like he was going to explode, but there was never anything like that, just another plateau of pleasure higher than anything he had reached before and then it started all over again.

 He could not _cum_.

 His world was isolated down to the feeling of Keshaara’s mouth on him, the way her hands had clung onto his still-clothed hips, how her hair felt tangled in his hands, how her mouth felt on him, the way she moaned around him, the raw feeling in his throat from his own vocalizations, how her mouth slid over him, the way it felt when he thrust his hips up into her face, and the way it felt to thrust up into her face, and thrusting up into her face, and her mouth on him and how it felt so much better to thrust and fuck her beautiful face and how great it was to fuck her face like this.

 But he still could not cum. Keshaara would not allow him. Her presence in his mind was doing _something_ dastardly and it rendered him incapable of experiencing the unmitigated bliss of cumming deep down her throat.

 Farkas came first, grunting his release deep into Keshaara, who was already coming with another moan that went straight through Loki’s cock and Loki was the only one left out of the orgasms. His moan was high and whining, and he desperately wished it did not sound so. Keshaara pushed herself up, licking her lips. Her plump, blood-flushed lips that had moments before been sucking the very base of Loki’s cock twitched into a smile and she leaned up to kiss Loki again.

 His mind was a jumble, and Keshaara could feel the fractured thoughts through their kiss. When he recognized her presence, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her flush to him, her naked flesh pressing into his clothing. He moaned endearments into her mouth, urging her to please just let him fuck her, please just let him inside of her, please Keshaara, _please_.

 Keshaara reveled in his begging, loving the way his words slipped into and out of coherency. He was blending his languages, switching from one language to the next, but the words all meant the same thing to her. He was begging, he was desperate and edged and nearly delirious with the overload of pleasure.

 “Loki, look at me,” she commanded, her voice firm.

 He obliged immediately, snapping his attention to her, his eyes wide. The green of his irises had been nearly consumed with the deep black of his pupils, but he was shockingly still. The familiar, deep thrill of dominance rushed through Keshaara, and for the moment, she would ignore Farkas behind her (who was lazily watching the scene as his orgasmic high bled from him) in favor of utterly dominating the beautiful creature before her.

 She reached for his hands, and for a moment, he hesitated, pulling ever so slightly away from her. His wrists were raw from his earlier struggles, and he did not want to be re-bound. Touching Keshaara was all he wanted to do. But her grip was firm, and she guided him to press his thumbs onto two identical scars that were about three inches in from her hipbones. He did as she directed, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over the thin scars.

 “I was made to be infertile by those who thought the woman-Dovahkiin should not be given the chance to procreate. They stabbed me twice, just there. For all points and purposes, this is why Farkas and I cannot have a child of our own.”

 Her voice buzzed with power, and Loki found himself defenseless against it. Her anger rose up in _his_ chest, and the desire to show those who had _assumed_ , who had _harmed,_ who had _denied_ her the chance to have what she had lost and it made him _furious_.

 “I can fix that. Not permanently, but I can fix it for tonight,” her growled, his hands tightening on her hips.

The smile Keshaara directed at him was predatory. Slowly, she lowered herself until she was grinding against Loki’s cock. For a few long moments, she did nothing more than rub herself over him, coating him in the liberal juices gushing from her sex. He groaned, and his hips jerked upwards, seeking the sweet, sweet feeling of Keshaara wrapped around him again. There was a deep, gnawing throbbing in his gut and an itch under his skin and Loki knew the only way to relieve himself was to let himself be dominated by her but he just did not understand why she was not fucking him already because she was naked and in his lap and she smelled like her husband who was watching them and he ached to make her smell like _them_ again because in the face of smelling another on her, his most basic of instincts wanted to make her smell only like _him_.

"Can you?” she asked, rocking her hips against him still. It was a slow torture, never quite putting enough pressure on him for there to be concrete pleasure gained from it at all. It was only to tease him, edge him even further towards the end.

 “ **Yes**. For you, yes. To make it possible for tonight, yes.”

 His magic crackled at his fingertips, and even before he could really think of what he was doing, he let the magic flow from him, to her. He knew what he wanted, and his magic would always fetch him what he wanted. He wanted Keshaara, he wanted her, he _wanted_ her to have what she wanted. He craved her pleasure because it meant he would have his pleasure and Norns, he wanted her.

 A circle of runes glowed on her flesh, a soft green color infusing them all. Loki loved his colors, loved seeing them dance across her skin. Reverently, he pressed his hands over the runes, disturbing their presence, but the magic was already in place, and would act for as long as he could manage to keep it in place – for the night, this time.

 “Because you want to see my belly fat with child, _don’t_ you?”

 Loki had an answer on his tongue – a halfhearted denial that was not a lie, just an acknowledgement of its impropriety for him to leave another bastard child in a universe so far removed from his Nine Realms, but Keshaara’s hand had moved, her hips had dipped and all at once, he was inside of her.

 “Don’t you, Loki?”

 She fucked him slowly, batting his hands away from her hips when he tried to control the pace, pinning them above his head with one of her hands. Her eyes were open and blazing red. Loki could feel her already contracting around him, trying to milk the orgasm that boiled beneath his flesh out of him. Still, he could not cum. She was not letting him.

 Keshaara summoned the ropes again, binding Loki’s hands above his head, shushing his plaintive moan when he was denied the ability to touch her again. She tore his clothes off of him, flinging them across the rooms without much care for the ruined seams or the sharp hiss of pain from the man beneath her. She reached behind him to grab a fistful of his hair and yank his head back against the headboard, exposing his throat to her.

 The bite should have been expected, but Loki still yelped when her teeth broke his skin. Still, her hips rolled, and languidly, she rode him. There would be no question by the time this was done that she had been in control from the start through to the finish. His blood filled her mouth and she drank it greedily, pulling Loki’s hair savagely with one hand as her other raised bloodied welts down his side.

 He shouted at the sudden stimulation, bucking up into her again, and Keshaara took the cue to mean that he was ready to have her ride him with more fervor. The sounds of their flesh impacting, his pained and pleasured moans, and the soft sounds of her drinking his blood filled the room.

 When she withdrew her fangs from his neck, and pressed her lips to the fast-closing wound, Loki whimpered again. Keshaara could feel how delightfully hard he was inside of her, and every moment that she held him from being able to cum inside of her, a little more of his objectionable nature fell away from him until he was babbling again. This time, it was begging. He was begging her, in languages she did not speak, for any number of things. When he spoke in the language they shared, she nuzzled the side of his neck, over the bite-scars she had dappled his flesh with. At first, he begged for her to just let him _cum_ because it _hurt_ and he _wanted_ her. But that was not enough.

 So she rode him all the more fervently, alternatingly granting him pleasure (but not enough of it) and pain (and far less than enough of that), waiting for him to say what she wanted him to say. As beautiful as his voice was when it had the rasp of desperation in it, as stunning as it was to see blood seep from wounds down across his pale flesh, to watch as his magic flickered around him in a manner that she knew he was not entirely aware of happening, she wanted him to utterly submit to her. He needed to submit to her because she wanted him to.

 “Don’t you?”

 This time, the question was spoken softly, as she stilled herself, no longer moving at the frenetic pace she had been using merely moments before. She was slow, only barely circling her hips, only barely moving. Only barely driving Loki absolutely up the wall.

 “Fuck, _yes_ , I do, Keshaara,” he finally grit out.

 She stopped again, gently reaching up to cradle his chin with both hands. He did not look at her right away, his gaze centered elsewhere, but eventually, his eyes travel back to her. For a moment, there is silence between the two of them, and then Keshaara leaned in close to him.

 “Then why don’t you?”

 And all at once, whatever she had done to him that had kept him on the edge of orgasm for what seemed like hours was gone and he was not just tumbling or hurtling over the edge. No, as soon as those words fell from her mouth, it was as if the void had opened up underneath him all over again and he was falling into a pleasure so acute that Loki lost all sense of anything but that feeling.

 It was a few feverish minutes before Loki came back to his senses. Keshaara was undoing the knots that had held his hands up by hand, not trusting her magic in that moment. Gently, she guided his hands down to his sides, pressing gentle kisses into his hair as she moved around him. To Loki’s immediate pleasure, he noticed her trembling and panting, her skin warm as it touched him. He reached up to her, not minding the ache in his arm, and she lowered her face to his hand. He felt…light, almost as if he was floating atop of some invisible cushion.

 “Are you alright, Loki?” she asked, pressing a kiss into his palm.

 “Yes.”

 His voice trembled as he said it though, and Keshaara laughed.

 “Husband, fetch some of the other blankets. We should sleep before nightfall so we are all rested when it is time to see the others.”

 Loki made some sort of token protestation, but he was hushed by Keshaara’s finger pressing on the center of his lips.

 “Shush, you. It is sleeping time,” she chastised softly, pulling Loki down the bed so he was lying down properly. Farkas, still naked, ambled out of the room to fetch the blankets as he had been asked.

 To Loki’s surprise, Keshaara curled up next to him, nuzzling his neck affectionately and slinging her arm and one leg over his frame.

 “Kesh?”

 “Pretty certain I said shush, Loki. I’m sleepy. You are sleepy. Farkas is sleepy. We will sleep.”

 Loki opened his mouth to object further, but Keshaara gave him swift, unrelenting peck-kisses all over his mouth and jawbone until he relented with a laugh. He was tired, after all. It had been so long since they had slept…since Winterhold, in fact. Keshaara was tracing circles on his stomach and chest, humming lowly as she continued. Loki shifted so that his arm encircled her shoulders, and let his other hand rest on his stomach. He ignored the burn in his neck and down his sides where Keshaara had clawed his skin open or bit him, and the dull ache across his wrists where the rope had bit into his flesh and rubbed it away. When Keshaara entangled her fingers with his and snuggled herself closer to him, even as Farkas brought the requested blankets into the room and swept them over the bed and the two people already in it, Loki’s heart stuttered arrhythmically. Farkas climbed into bed behind Keshaara, angling himself so he could sling his arm around his wife’s waist, and sketch letters on her stomach.

Farkas pressed a kiss into her shoulderblade, Keshaara hummed happily, and Loki wondered, as sleep overcame him, if this was really happening at all.


	35. Voth Ahkrin

The Tale of the Dragonborn

( ~~The Tale of the Jotun Prince~~ )

* * *

 

 

Keshaara awoke happier than she had ever woken up before. For a few moments, she let herself relish languor in the feeling before opening her eyes. The hour was still late, and she knew in the intrinsic way all vampires did that the moon was still high in the sky. Loki was slumbering still, and from behind her, she could hear the familiar rumble of Farkas as he slept on as well. But it was Loki who had her attention.

 Asleep, he looked as if he were at peace, finally. Strands of his hair had fallen over his face, and she was loathe to move, in case it woke up. His arm had not moved from its position around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him, even as he slept. His other hand, the one she had held as they fell into slumber was still holding her wrist. Keshaara did not want to move, not even the slightest bit, lest it wake him. Beneath his skin, his heartbeat was slow, steady, even. The peace of the moment, the feeling of being completely intertwined with both Loki and her husband (who had one of his hands cradling her stomach, and a leg thrown over one of hers) suffused her with a simple, contented warmth.

 She smiled, and pressed her lips against Loki’s chest, over where his heatbeat sounded loudest. It was that that roused him, and Loki’s eyes fluttered open. He stared at her, his face open and free of any mask or pretention. He was looking at her, and she at him, and there was nothing else in the moment but them. His arm over her shoulders tightened and he pressed a kiss onto the crown of her forehead. She tightened her grip on his hand, holding it properly in her own, and tilted her head up to kiss the corner of his mouth gently.

 He allowed her that simple touch, his own hand tightening over hers.

 “Good evening, Krojunsekrah,” she said softly. “I hope you slept well.”

 “I did, Keshaara.”

 His response was mumbled, uncharacteristically for his silvered tongue. Loki nuzzled her hair affectionately, and a handful of seconds later, he was asleep again, still holding her to him. Keshaara chuckled, which roused her husband. Farkas mumbled endearments to his wife, kissing her shoulders and neck with a sleepy smile on his face.

 “Good evening, my wife.”

 “Good evening, husband.”

 Farkas muttered niceties into her skin, but excused himself from the bed. Keshaara pulled the blankets that had shifted back up over her shoulder and snuggled herself closer to Loki, who roused himself just long enough to reach over and pull her on top of him, holding her to his chest. Keshaara was confused for a few moments, but when Loki did nothing more than hold her, she thought nothing more of her sudden new position and relaxed, her head drooping down to rest in the crook of his neck.

 Loki’s hands rested on the curve of her hips, and ever-so-gently, he pushed her lower. He flexed his hips and he was inside of her again. Keshaara gasped, pushing herself up on her elbows. Loki tutted her, and pressed his hands into the small of her back, pinning her arms to her side. She fell back into him, her face buried in his neck. His thrusts were shallow, teasing. Keshaara whimpered, trying to wiggle down so that she could feel _more_ of him, but he held her still.

 “Lok _iiii_ ,” she whined, writhing in his arms.

 “Keshaara, I thought you _wanted_ this. Don’t you want to grow large with child? Don’t you?” he hissed in her ear, punctuating his words with sharp thrusts. For a man who had been asleep but a few moments earlier (or, more likely, feigning sleep), he was surprisingly well-spoken. His voice was gruff with sleep still, and Keshaara could feel it reverberating through her.

 “Nnngh, Lo _ki_.”

 “Well that was the whole point of this evening, wasn’t it? To get you fat with my child?”

 Keshaara moaned obscenely in Loki’s ear, doing her best to rock her hips back into his. She was desperate.

 “Isn’t it what you wanted? What you’ve always wanted? To have a child inside of you, to spend the months waiting and watching as your belly grows larger with life? You just need someone to spend the night cumming inside of you, that’s all. You just need me to keep thrusting into you like this. You _need_ me, don’t you?”

 “Aaahn, **yes** , Loki. Ple-leeaas-se, Loki.”

 Her voice cracked as she spoke. His voice was smooth and silken, and heady with truth and desire. Still, Loki did nothing more than gently rock back and forth inside her.

 “Please who?”

 There was that curl of arousal deep inside her again. Loki’s words were the trigger to it, and Keshaara was no so dense as to not realize that it was the magic he had used earlier that was catalyzing her own reaction. She wanted to damn him, to curse him for using her like this, but there more he whispered in her ear, the more he just-barely-not-quite thrust up into her, the less she really cared about this particular trick.

 “You, please, _Loki_. Loki, please you. I want to please you. I want you. I need you, please Loki, _please_.”

 He did not stop. He did, however, slow his hips. Loki deliberately moved as slowly as he could. Keshaara sobbed, trying to buck her hips onto him, but he pressed a hand onto her tailbone and forced her to be still.

 “Loki!” she bit out, her voice cracking desperately.

 “Hmm, Kesh? What is it?”

 His words were crooned at her, and he nuzzled her ear as he spoke them. Keshaara moaned again, desperately struggling against his grip. She wanted to fuck him, she wanted him to fuck her crosseyed, she was so painfully aroused that she could hardly think straight because he was not fucking her, he was teasing her and how on Nirn was that fair?

 “Loki, please!”

 For one brief thrust, he was seated completely inside of her. Keshaara screamed her pleasure, throwing her head back and clenching madly around him. She was so _close_ to cumming. But he went right back to the shallow, slow, taunting, rocking and Keshaara’s next scream was low and pained.

 “Please what, Keshaara?”

 “ **Fuck** me Loki. My King please me. Let me please you, let me please you, please Loki, I want you so damned badly. Please.”

 She was rewarded with another sharp thrust.

 “Please _what_ , Keshaara?”

 She was not aware of the words that spilled from her mouth next, only that they were not what he wanted to hear, because his thrusts went right back to slow and teasing. She bit the pale column of his neck, drinking his blood down as she tried to get any sort of reaction from him.

 “Please **what**.”

 His sharp final word was coupled with a flare of desire deep in her and she hissed. It was nearly painful how close to the edge she was. She supposed this was Loki’s halfhearted revenge for what she had done to him a few hours before. There was another flare of pleasure from deep inside of her, like he had stroked her from the inside and –

 “Oh _Divines_.”

 He **was** stroking her from the inside. His magic had uncurled from the seat of her womb and worked its way down her cunt until it was stroking her where the tip of his dick was not.

 “Divines, Loki, fuck me pregnant. Fuck me full of your children. Please Loki…I-I…need, I need, I _need-_ ”

 “Such a good _girl_ Keshaara. I think I will do ju-u-ust that.”

 He rolled her onto her back and thrust into her madly. Keshaara howled, clawing her fingers down his back as finally the oblivion of release crashed all through her. She was dimly aware of Loki grunting his own orgasm out inside of her, but that was all secondary to the wonderful mind-splitting pleasure that was reverberating through her. His teeth caught the flesh of her shoulder as he came inside of her, and he bit down, his mouth brutally cold. Green bolts of magic flashed through her field of vision, and had either of them been coherent enough to recognize it, for a moment they would have noted that both of them were shockingly, deep, blue. But the moment passed, the color faded, and the wound healed over, leaving no sign of its existence, save for the gentle burn in her shoulder.

 Loki gently pushed himself up off of her, his back seeping blood from more than a few welts. Farkas had returned some time during Keshaara’s ravishing, and as soon as he saw that Loki was no longer occupying himself with his wife, he climbed over her. Keshaara made only a small noise of surprise before she was welcoming her husband back into her with a long, low, moan.

 And so it continued through the night. Farkas would have her, Loki would take her, and her entirety of being was focalized down into being utterly consumed with pleasure. Everything but the deep, heady heat of need and desire was nothing to her.

 

* * *

 

It was many hours later, when Loki was having her again and blistering her with pleasures unlike any she had felt until that moment, and Farkas was slumbering as he awaited his turn again, that Keshaara heard the knocking at her door. Loki heard it as well, and with a wicked smile, he pumped into her twice more, and then removed himself, to Keshaara’s whimpered displeasure.

“You should answer the door, Kesh.”

 She grumbled, but got out of the bed. As much as Loki and Farkas had been spilling their seed inside of her, not a single drop of it leaked from within her. There was even a small paunch that had appeared overnight from what she thought would be the rather prodigious amount of cum in her. She supposed it was Loki’s magic, but she hardly minded. Not right now, at least. The echoes of hundreds of orgasms were still thundering in her ears, and standing was a novel experience. Keshaara had been on her back, knees, stomach, folded up and over and so on, but had not stood.

 Her knees wobbled for a moment, but the knocking continued, and Keshaara knew it was probably important that she answer the door soon. She pulled clothing onto her body, sighing at the uncomfortable feeling of cloth on skin after being so accustomed to the feel of skin sliding across skin. Carefully, she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to work some of the knots out.

 With soft footfalls, Keshaara walked down the stairs. She was moving with some manner of haste, but she was not going to run. This was, after all, her house.

 She opened the door to the predawn light, and Aela smirking at her.

 “Kodlak will speak with Farkas now, Keshaara. Then he’ll decide.”

 “Mmm,” Keshaara hummed, looking back over her shoulder into her darkened house. “Husband! Aela needs you!”

 There was a grumble, a groan, and a muffled string of cursewords, but Farkas was on his way downstairs within minutes, garbed in his usual attire, if a little disgruntled-looking. He growled at his Companion-sibling, who growled right back and cuffed his ear. Keshaara hid her smile behind the door, watching her friends – her new family - walk off towards Jorrvaskr. Her eyes followed their path through Windhelm until they were gone from her view. Slowly, she closed the door, not wanting to deal with the bright light that would soon be breaking over the horizon.

 Loki had come down the stairs after Farkas, hidden from Aela’s view, but when Keshaara turned, he was standing there, as naked as he had been when he had been born and that same, deep blue color. Keshaara’s breath caught in her throat, and almost in a sympathetic response, she felt her own body change to match his. How this magic had come about, how his blood still managed to affect her when the blood of Khajit and Argonian and Breton and Mer had faded from her, Keshaara did not know and could not fathom out. It simply was. Loki’s blood had irrevocably changed some deep part of her. She was as much like him as she was like the Companions, like the vampires, and that comforted her immensely.

 He was saying words, phrases heavy with power and magic as he approached her. Keshaara trusted him, as she trusted Farkas, and did not seek to ward herself from his magic. She let it wash over her, not even bothering to try and understand the affect of the magic. Loki would not harm her, and there was nothing to indicate that this was anything more than another of his odd quirks. She walked towards him, meeting him just to the side of the cookfire of Breezehome.

 His fingers brushed over her cheek, tracing the lines of her flesh with something that bordered on apprehension on his face. Keshaara stood still, allowing the contact, and being as careful as possible to make sure she did not unduly spook Loki. His fingers ghosted over the collar of her robe, and Keshaara reached to cover his hand with her own. She guided his fingers to the appropriate places, letting him slowly undo the fastenings of her clothing. Almost reverently, he pushed the fabric from her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor at her feet, leaving Keshaara just as naked as he.

 She looked up at him, her eyes Jotun-red and brimming with questions that she cared not ask. Loki, for his part, was still tracing the ritual markings of her flesh. His fingers were light on her skin, nearly hesitant in the pressure he allowed himself to place on her skin. Keshaara knew the markings of her body. She had spent that time in Lakeview Manor drawing herself, so she was at least somewhat familiar with everything. He traced out the pattern on her shoulders, the one that danced across her throat like a collar, and momentarily, his hand lingered in a spot that she did not remember having any particularly significant meaning. He traced a pattern there, one she did not recognize but that clearly drew a reaction from him. There were very nearly tears in his eyes as he looked at the mark, and his thumb rubbed the skin there multiple times before he drew away.

 “ _Dróttning minn, nakkvar fold brott_ ,” he mumbled, reaching up to caress her jaw. Keshaara leaned into the touch, even if she had been trying not to move previously.

 He cradled her face with both of his hands, and tilted her head down just far enough so that he could lean down and press his forehead to hers. The marks on their forehead touched, and caught on each other’s own. It was a shockingly intimate moment, and Keshaara felt exposed. But Loki did not let her go, not for many long minutes. His breaths were slow, and even, but Keshaara rather thought she could feel a tremble in his hands.

 Loki lifted his head only to press his cold lips to the center of the crown Keshaara wore etched into her Jotun skin, and then he stepped away.

 Keshaara stepped back towards him, reaching for his hands, but Loki withdrew.

 “We should get dressed, Keshaara. Dawn will be upon us soon. You should be laying down when that happens. It may be…messy.”

 He looked down at her pudged stomach, an eyebrow quirked and a smile on his face. Keshaara smiled back at him, not even remotely concerned with how messy things may get. There was a suffusing warmth deep in her chest that only grew as she looked at Loki. The feeling was unusual, but Keshaara was rather used to unusual things. There was a myriad of things that could be causing the emotional disturbance in her, and none of them really concerned her. It could be a reaction to his magic, left-over happiness from being so thoroughly pleased throughout the night, whatever. It could be anything and she did not really care.

 Loki extended a hand to her, and carefully led her back up the stairs. They fell into bed together, the idea of clothing themselves disregarded for the simplest pleasure of holding and being held by another. Keshaara drifted towards sleep, the sun’s rise triggering the vampiric compulsion. Loki held her close, even as his magic waned and dissipated inside of her, and the Dovahkiin allowed herself to fall into slumber.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time she was awoken, it was decidedly less comforting and warm. Panic was in the air, and Keshaara was already moving out of bed before consciousness crashed around her. Farkas was bellowing her name from outside, and she could read the panic in his voice even from the distance.

Her armor snapped onto her, heavy steel and etched leather. She paid no mind to the stickiness on her thighs, or the pained protestation of her thighs as she rushed down the stairs, vaulting the last seven steps in one huge leap. Loki was right behind her, the armor she had made for him already on his body, and his green magic at his hands.

 She burst out of the front door of Breezehome, her axe drawn. Farkas opened his mouth to tell her whatever horrible news had befallen Skyrim, but she knew. Keshaara knew immediately. The tragedy was already in the air, in the sky, in the very song of the world.

 “ _Alduin_ ,” she hissed, looking to the south, her eyes narrowed.

 Farkas could only nod, reaching for his wife’s arm.

 “The Companions are mustering forces. We ride with our sister into the teeth of th-”

 “ ** _No_**.”

 Her voice was as cold as the frosts of the north, and when she turned her gaze back to Farkas, he understood.

 “I will do this alone. I must ride with Loki. He needs to be tended to, but I will not endanger you all. I must face him alone. I will face him alone. Alduin is not your monster, is not your fate, is not something you can hold against. Farkas, you and the Companions are my family. I will not…I cannot lose you to this terror. Please. _Please_.”

 Her husband could only nod his agreement, looking to Jorrvaskr.

 “Kodlak wanted to speak with you, to accept you back into the Companions…but there is no time, is there?”

 He sounded almost forlorn as he spoke, looking at the Dovahkiin with what could only be desperation.

 “No, Farkas. There is no time. I must ride. I cannot…I am sorry.”

 Aela and the Companions made their entrance then, rushing to the door of her home, painted and ready for war. Keshaara looked to them, her reddened vampire eyes misted with tears. Aela stepped forward.

 “You will not let us come with you, will you, Keshaara?”

 “No. I am taking Loki somewhere far from here, and I will ride from there, alone.”

 “Then at least ride as a Companion, and not a monster.”

 The woman held a small bowl of blood to her, and Keshaara noted the small cut on Aela’s palm. In unison, the other Companions lifted their hands. All of them bore the same mark, the same cut. They had all bled for her, to bring her back to them. A small smile lit upon her lips, and Keshaara accepted the still-warm bowl with a nod. She drank from the bowl greedily, suddenly anxious all at once to have the blight of vampirism stricken from her. The change was nearly immediate, and her red eyes faded to brilliant orange. There was no uproarious cheer from the Companions. They had their sister back, but they were sending her, alone, to the Teeth of the World. Aela reached for a second pouch, one Keshaara knew to be full of the paint that the Companions often used, and she removed her helm. Aela drew her war-paint back on, the two downward triangles that traced from the apex of her cheekbones down to her chin.

 “Good luck, Keshaara. May your blade fly true.”

 Keshaara offered Aela a tight nod, and put her helm back on. She turned again to Farkas, a wan smile on her face.

 “Do not keep the cookfires on overlong, husband. I would rather sup on chilled food than come back to a burnt house.”

 Farkas grinned at her, but said nothing.

 “Loki, come. We ride for your safety.”

 No one objected to her choosing to take Loki with her when they had been forbidden to come. He followed behind her as she walked out of Whiterun. Fear was in her, the deep-rooted caution and terror that had dogged her since the beginning of her destiny. Her hands did not tremble though.

 She was Keshaara, Dovahkiin, and she would walk with pride and strength when there were eyes on her.

 She mounted Shadowmere, and silent Loki mounted Frost. With a heel in her steed’s side and a whooped cry, Keshaara thundered off to the south, her location fixed in her mind. She needed to see to Loki, even if black wings were blotting out her horizon, she owed him freedom. She owed him a way home.

 “Kesh, I am not going to allow you to battle this monster on your own. You need someone by your side during all of this.”

 Loki spoke up only when he was certain they were out of earshot of all others, drawing Frost up beside Shadowmere and looking to the woman he had relied on ever since arriving in this other world.

 “I know. There is still something I must do first.”

 Keshaara said nothing more, and Loki took it as her agreement with what he was suggesting. Her words sounded no lie, but there was something…else hidden beneath what she was saying. Not a lie, no. She was speaking truth, but not all of it.

 “What is that, then?”

 “A boon from one of the Daedra.”

 

* * *

 

“Here, Loki,” she said after about an hour’s hard riding. Keshaara dismounted, tossing Shadowmere’s reigns over a branch of a tree. The cave’s mouth was overgrown, covered with rocks and boulders and what could very easily be the remains of previous adventurers. Keshaara preferred not to know.

Loki, still silent, followed her lead as she began edging into the cave, the rocks scraping her armor, then his.

 For the first hundred meters of the cave, nothing seemed amiss. It was like every other cave in Skyrim – dark and dank and full of mushrooms and the musty smell of old death. After a certain distance, though, things stopped being normal. Everything began ordering itself with exacting precision. Mushrooms grew in perfectly straight rows, arranged by species, instead of where they would naturally grow in clusters. Rocks were organized in highly symmetric piles, largest on bottom, smallest on top.

 “Kesh…what is this?”

 The cave opened into a huge underground cavern, with intricate, precise carvings covering nearly every square centimeter of wall space. To one side was a huge raised dais, with a massive – and empty – throne. At the foot of this dais were two smaller daises, both with intricate runes carved into the base.

 She did not respond, but turned to him. Keshaara could not bring herself to look him in the eye, and instead busied herself with adjusting the armor she had given him, ensuring it lay correctly across his body. He had put on weight since coming to Skyrim. Compared to the wraithling she had pulled out of a tree…Divines, no more than a month ago, he was much different. Loki had been much and more to her in the short time he had been in her life, and she was saddened by what she was going to have to do. Gently, she lifted one of his hands to her mouth and pressed a kiss in the space between his knuckles. 

 “A way home. I’m sorry, Loki. Please...do not forget me. There will be songs of you here, but I do not know if your people sing. Please, just do not forget me.”

 He narrowed his eyes, expecting some manner of betrayal (her words tasted of lies), but Kesh merely turned away and walked towards the closest of the two small daises.  She directed him to stand upon it, and held his hand for the barest of moments as he passed her by. Loki shot another odd look at her as he crossed the threshold of the first circle of runes. The look transformed into shocked fury when he saw the magic dancing at Keshaara’s hands.

 The ward spell was out of her before he could cross the threshold back to her. It caught in the runes and bloomed into a wall that surrounded him, trapping him on the dais. He called out to her, pounding a fist on the too-solid shield she had erected around him, screaming at her for whatever she was doing. Something in how she was acting made him wary, put him on edge. She needed a boon, and she was intent upon getting one, but he was unsure if he was to be traded for it.

 Keshaara approached the larger dais, her weapon still sheathed at her hip.

 From within her ward spell, Loki could hear nothing, though he saw her lips moving. She was praying, invoking some Daedra to ask it a favor. This could not be her solution to get him home. He knew of the Daedra – he had seen how they treated her, and he was not at all comfortable with her dealing with another one. Keshaara was better than having to resort to this. She was, he knew it, but that did not stop her from bowing her head in supplicance to whatever great horror resided in this place.

 Keshaara, for her part, was praying that Jyggalag would be merciful. That he would see the proper order in things restored, and that he would send Loki home safely.

 The familiar, damnably familiar, feeling of a Daedra incarnate rushed through the area. Jyggalag, in all of his massive glory, sat upon the throne, staring down at her through the eyes of his jagged helm. His voice was not spoken word, but words that reverberated through her body, soundless and terrifying. Loki could hear Jyggalag as well, but relied on his ability to read lips to understand what Keshaara was saying.

 Ξ Dovhakiin. You come to me. Ξ

 “Yes. There is an unbalance. You must right it.”

 Ξ You dare command me. Ξ

 “I do. You should know that that is my nature. I dare many things, and that is why you know what I ask is right. Loki is not of Skyrim. He should not be bound by the land that binds me. He must return home. His destiny is not here, his place is not here.”

 Ξ You are so sure of this. Your heart says otherwise. Ξ

 Keshaara blanched, and dared to look up to the great Daedra. Jyggalag was the most terrible, the most powerful of Daedra, and even if he had been perpetually dissolved from Sheograth, he was still horrible to treat with. He was powerful, and there was something dark in his words.

 Ξ This is a trial for the Dovahkiin, unlike any that has been crafted before. You have beheld evidence of a world beyond this one. You know that there is more than just this plane of existence, more than just Oblivion in Oblivion. You know much and more of things than you would otherwise let on. Ξ

 “I-I don’t understand…why is this important?”

 Ξ You have a choice. Ξ

 “What?”

 Ξ You have a choice, Dovahkiin. Your freedom or his. Ξ

 “His.”

 Ξ You should listen closer before you decide. Your freedom is much more than just your ability to be free of the title and duties of Dovahkiin. Your freedom is your life. Your ability to walk past the borders of Skyrim is freedom. Your family is freedom. There is much and more to your freedom. Ξ

 “His freedom, still.”

 The words burned her mouth, and she spat them out like a curse. She could not choose herself over him. She could not.

 Ξ Closer still, Dovahkiin. Your freedom – or his. Know that he is a criminal, that he is imprisoned for committing acts of war. Know that he holds responsibility for the deaths of millions. Know that he is guilty. Know that his guilt is not assuaged by anyone. Know that he plots further chaos. Know that his father by blood has been killed by his own hand. Know this. Ξ

 “Still. His. His destiny is not here. If he is guilty there, he should serve there. If he is truly what you say he is, then he should be free to feel the brunt of his actions. This is not my choice. I know his freedom to live his life is important. Moreso than mine.”

 Ξ Still. Look closer. Would you send him away. Would you _truly_ desire to send him away. Ξ

 Jyggalag leaned forward on his throne, extending a finger towards her. She felt his power rush towards her, overwhelming every iota of her being. For a shining, glorious second, she was granted prescience – the visions of what could be and what was at her very core. There was…

 “No. _No._ This is not…you are not, you can’t be suggesting.”

 Ξ You wanted to find your Alunsegein. You found him. He is here. You would send him away, knowing that. Ξ

 Keshaara looked to Loki, her eyes brimming with tears she refused to let fall. The visions still danced behind her eyes of things she had not dared to hope for since she was small in Morrowind and told of how the world would be.

 “He is…He is Loki, of Asgard and Jotunheim. He must be there. That is where I belong. His freedom, even from me.”

 Ξ You are certain, Dovahkiin. That you will let this from you, bind yourself only the more to Skyrim. You will willingly give up everything you had ever wanted to send this one back to the prison he came here from. Ξ

 Keshaara’s breath caught. Did she really want to do all of that?

 Of course she did not. But that was what was needed. She could see Loki waving to get her attention, not pleased at all with what was being said, but she could not not do this. She had to do this. She had promised she would do this and she carried through her promises. Loki may not want whatever was happening to happen, he may feel betrayed and upset, but it was the only way. 

 “His freedom for mine. I will accept that. I will surrender my freedom.”

 She turned back to Jyggalag, her eyes cold. 

 There was a rumble in the air, a near-laugh from the Daedra.

 Ξ That means more than you may realize. I accept this trade. Loki Laufeyson will go home. Loki Laufeyson will earn his freedom in your servitude to his freedom. Yes, Ξ There was another rumble, a louder one. Ξ Yes, this is acceptable. Ξ

 Loki was screaming something at her, pounding on the wardspell she had surrounded him in. He was in a full rage, howling words that Keshaara could not hear. She did her best to look at him, to, for what would be the last time, see him. At his waist, the pouches she had given him with the books and trinkets she had chosen to give to him. There were lights that started to dance in the ceiling, spinning downwards to alight upon Loki. A burst of wind, air and power consumed him, and the lights flashed so brightly that Keshaara had to turn her head away, or her eyes would have been burned out. There was nothing where Loki had once been, and when she turned back to Jyggalag, there was no one there. It was done, then. She was forever bound to serve Skyrim. The price of it all had been paid.

The silence was deafening. She wanted to hear something, hear anything to match the fury inside of her. She felt cheated. She felt ill. Her screams were out of her before she could stop them, echoing throughout the cavern. It was not fair, it had not been fair, not once had it been fair but it was done. Loki was gone and a deep sorrow had settled in her. She had never been affected like this before, but there was a hollowness in her heart that she had not expected. Her knees were on the ground and she was screaming her fury and sadness at the earth, howling the injustice of it all to the cold, uncaring cave. There was nothing she could do. Everything she had was for the good of Skyrim. That had been what she had promised, wasn't it. 

 Her sorrow carried her to the field of battle long after the dazzling lights faded from her eyes.

 Alduin roared challenge at her, and Keshaara could not find it within herself to roar back.

 Sorrow was a heavy weight in her heart. But she had done what was right. Even if Jyggalag would demand her service after her death, she would pay that price. It was what was needed, and she steeled herself in the knowledge that she had done what she should have done. She did what was expected of the Dovahkiin.

 Her axe was heavy in her hand, and her magic wreathed her. Aludin screamed again, his voice shaking leaves from the trees that surrounded them. The song of the Dragonborn, the prophecy of her life rang in her ears as she stared down the Destroyer of Worlds, The Black Dragon, The First Dragon.  

 She was Keshaara, Dovahkiin.

 And this was the end of the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends Ahkrin Ahrk Krah. The next book of this trilogy will be entitled Kapp Eða Kaldr, and the first chapter will be up eventually. Thank you all for reading!
> 
> -Darkarashi


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